


To Those Left Behind

by onelongwinter



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward First Times, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelongwinter/pseuds/onelongwinter
Summary: When the war is over, someone needs to pick up the pieces. But Fodlan isn't the only thing in ruins, and as Dimitri and the rest of their classmates put it back together again, Felix is stuck standing still. A reconstruction post AM fic.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 32
Kudos: 84





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This fic is a reconstruction fic post AM, assuming full recruitment. It'll probably be 1/3 politics, 1/3 character growth and development, and 1/3 sexy sex. It will also be... horribly long, I'm afraid. Slow burn things falling apart and being slowly put back together. Enjoy!

When the war is over, Dimitri buries Edelgard. 

“Someone has to,” he says, when Felix asks. “I am her only sibling left. So I  _ have _ to.”

He doesn’t know about “have to.” He’s never buried a sibling, not in that sense- he hadn’t gone to Glenn’s funeral. It was obscene, burying a casket far too light, weighed down more by his sword than what they recovered of his body. He didn’t want to hear the eulogies, beautiful words that meant nothing. 

Dimitri doesn’t eulogize Edelgard in words. She was a woman of action, and that was the only way they understood each other. So Dimitri buries her in her family plot, next to the countless dead Hresvelg siblings. 

“It’s a useless sentiment,” he says, and Dimitri shrugs, dirt smeared on his face and dusting his clothes.

“It is never useless to be kind,” Dimitri says. “She missed them so much, after all. I think she’d find it a comfort to be close to them again.”

The rest of the graduating class of 1181 join him. Some are sad, and some are regretful, and some even are thankful, and they lower her coffin into the ground gently, as if it were something precious. But a body is just a body, and there is no more Edelgard inside it than there is anywhere left in the world. 

But even so, Dorothea sings for her, and there are fresh flowers on her grave, and then it is finished.

When the war is over, Felix goes home. 

He isn’t the only one. Fodlan is a wreck. Many of their classmates are needed back in their own territories, to pick up the pieces. Those who can be spared join Dimitri as he tours the continent. 

“With the former empire lords swearing fealty to His Highness, the fighting is finally coming to an end,” Sylvain says, late at night. He rubs his thumb in little circles over the back of Felix’s hand. “It’s a mess, though. He says he plans to visit as many towns as possible and meet with as many people as he can. I have no idea how he’s going to rebuild it all.”

“Are you going back to Gautier?” He asks, and Sylvain laughs. 

“Nah, His Highness will need me. He and Ferdinand will be at each other’s throats in a few days. There needs to be someone with people skills tagging along.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Felix grumbles. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright all alone up there?”

Felix shrugs. “I like being alone,” he says. 

They make a detour on the way, just a small one, as they pass through Gronder Field. He can’t stop thinking about what Dimitri said and useless sentiments and Dorothea’s song. 

When the war is over, he buries what is left of his father next to what is left of Glenn, and hopes that will truly, finally, be the end of it. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Well, this chapter came out far later than I thought it would. It's mostly exposition - a quick catch up on where everyone is at after the war. We'll get into the juicy drama - political and relationship - in the next few chapters. Hopefully they'll come out on a much more regular basis! 
> 
> I haven't fully decided on which side ships will happen yet, but so far please enjoy some Doropetra on the side! I love writing those two. I really can't wait to sink into a lot of characters I haven't had the chance to write yet. It's going to be a long haul, but I think it'll be fun, at the very least.

_Ethereal Moon, Day 17_

Icicles festoon the houses of Fhirdiad, and Felix pulls his cloak closer and shivers. Fraldarius territory is colder, he knows that internally, but three days on horseback has chilled him to the core. He’s certain he’ll never be warm again. The sun is setting. The light bounces off the ice and snow, and he knows that most of Faerghus will be bundling up inside with warm food and drink. 

He hasn’t been back, not since the coronation, but already the city is transforming. Instead of imperial platoons marching through the streets, children are racing each other to skate on the frozen river. Perhaps he’s melting just a bit at the thought. It’s enough to keep him warm as he trots through the city and over the drawbridge. 

“Good evening, Duke Fraldarius,” the guard says, and he catches himself before he can look over his shoulder. He gives the man a stiff bow from his saddle, and urges his horse onwards.

“Feee-lix!” Someone calls out in a singsong voice, and Goddess, it’s already begun. Sylvain waves down at him from the watchtower, cheerful and bright. By the time he makes it past the guards and through the gate, he’s already there, a wide smile stretched across his face as he forces a cup of tea nto his hands. 

“What is this?” He asks, quirking up an eyebrow. 

“Not even going to say ‘hi?’” Sylvain complains, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to arrive. That is a very fancy and expensive tea from Brigid, by the way.”

“I take it the summit went well?” Felix asks. “And okay, yes, hello. It’s only been a week since your last letter. Are you that needy?”

“The summit seemed to go well, yeah,” Sylvain explains, taking the reins of Felix’s horse and leading them to the stable. “The gift giving alone was absurd. I think Petra has enough wolfskins to completely cover her room from ceiling to floor. I managed to save you a cup of the crown jewel, though.”

Felix takes a sip, and it’s delicious, warm and rich. Sylvain remembered that he’s not too fond of sweets, and instead, the tea has a gentle spice to it. It’s exactly what he needed to thaw out. 

Sylvain is rambling on about international politics, way too fast and without the context he needs. 

“-obviously everyone wants Brigid independent as soon as possible, but really, the issue is what does Fodlan owe to them, you know? The war devastated them as well, and Petra is concerned Dagda will view them as ripe for the picking. So there’s mutual defense pacts and reparations and reconstruction efforts to be negotiated and-”

“Sylvain,” he interrupts, and Sylvain lets whatever he was saying about national exports die off in his mouth. “Can I at least dismount before you burden me with international relations?”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I’ve just missed you a lot, and you’ve missed so much, too!”

Sylvain is like his father’s hunting dogs, Felix notes as he dismounts. Bumbling and excitable, always waiting for their master to come home. You wouldn’t think how deadly and well trained they were, the way their whole bodies would shake along with their tails. He hadn’t known how to tell them his father was never coming back. 

Still, he pulls Sylvain into an awkward hug, and his face is flushed, either from the cold or embarrassment but it doesn’t matter. Sylvain laughs and he leans down to kiss him. Felix lets him, putting up only the token amount of resistance to hide the fact that he’s been waiting for this for a long, long time. 

“Come on, you must be starving,” Sylvain says. “Let’s get some food in you.” He grabs Felix by the hand, and pulls him forward.

“I thought you’d protest a little,” he jokes, squeezing Felix's fingers. Felix stares blankly at him. 

“My hands are too numb to care,” he says, and Sylvain rolls his eyes and tugs him along. 

The kitchen is bustling, and Felix doesn’t want to bother anyone to cook him anything, so he just nabs a roll and settles in at the back. Dedue awkwardly leans against the countertop. 

“A few years ago, the kitchen staff were afraid to let me touch the food out of fear I’d poison it,” Dedue says, surveying the room. “A new staff, a new kitchen… now they do not want me to cook as it would be unbefitting of a war hero to prepare his own meal.”

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, I see,” Sylvain remarks. Felix rips a piece of the roll and washes it down with tea. 

“I will call it an improvement,” Dedue says, drily. “But still, had I known you would have been arriving I would have made sure I had something for you.”

“This is why I told Sylvain not to tell anyone when I was coming, you’d all kick up such a fuss,” Felix says, and Dedue snorts. 

“Wishing to welcome a friend home is not a fuss, Felix,” he says, and before they can really get into it the kitchen door flies open, and Dorothea sashays across the floor, leading what appears to be, by Felix’s reckoning, a massive pile of furs by what seems to be their hand. 

“Two birds with one stone, Petra!” She trills. “Warmest room in the palace, and you get to say hi to Felix!”

Petra is completely swaddled from head to toe, which he takes to mean that she hasn’t been handling Fhirdiad’s weather well. He parts the muffler around her head like a hunter creeping through the underbrush, and she laughs at him. 

“Good evening, Felix! I was worried I’d miss you before I have to leave!”

“We’ll be beginning our trip back to Brigid on the 19th,” Dorothea says. “Petra doesn’t want to be here in the cold any longer than she has too,” she adds in a conspiratorial whisper. 

“You are saying that, but I actually will be sad to miss the high holidays this year,” she says. “I am looking forward to getting to experience Fodlan in a different way, now that Brigid is free.”

Sylvain straightens up. “You signed the treaty already? Congratulations!”

“Well, officially it will be tomorrow night at the ball,” Petra says, accepting a cup of warm milk from Dedue. “And we’ll need to reassess periodically, of course. King Dimitri has offered post-war aid, but we’ll have to see if it will be enough, or if Fodlan can even fulfill it.”

“Reality is rarely as simple as we’d like it to be,” Dedue says. 

“I think we all wished this could have happened sooner,” Petra says. “Dimitri and I started talking shortly before…” She pauses, and exhales, her breath swirling with the steam from the milk. “Before Enbarr. Unofficially, of course. I’ve been running back and forth between here and Brigid since, it’s been spinning my head. Dorothea’s been a huge help.”

Dorothea laughs, and wraps an arm around her. “Aw, you exaggerate. I just do what Petra tells me to!”

“Hey, every little bit helps,” Sylvain reminds her. “Don’t undersell yourself.” 

“How have you been doing?” Petra asks him, and he shrugs. 

“I’m living,” he says, and Dorothea snorts. 

“How very descriptive,” she says, but her eyes aren’t unkind as she teases him. 

“It’s the truth,” he argues. “It’s just been paperwork, and more paperwork. At least we have enough food to last the winter.”

“That’s right, Fraldarius territory was never under the Dukedom,” Petra notes. “You got away a lot better than most of Faerghus.”

“It’ll be nice to take a break, won’t it?” Dorothea laughs. “Well, as much of a break as you can get. Dimitri is running the whole court ragged.”

The hair on the back of his neck stands to attention. “Is he?”

“If it weren’t for Dedue’s suggestion, I don’t think he’d even be celebrating the high holidays this year. Fodlan’s a mess, no getting around that- but people still need rest. Time to celebrate being alive,” Sylvain explains. 

Dedue shrugs. “Winter is meant to be a time of family and celebration,” he says. “I, for one, will be happy to take a break. I feel as if I haven’t had one in a decade.”

“Many of our classmates will be joining us for the ball tomorrow,” Petra says, tentatively taking a sip of her drink. It seems to be cooled enough, and she gulps the rest down. 

“It will be nice to see our house gathered here again,” Dedue remarks. “Many of our classmates from the Empire and the Alliance will be absent, but it will be the first time our original class will be together since…” 

“The end of the war,” Felix says. No one wants to say it, he notes. Cowards. The war is over. Edelgard is dead. Lots of people are dead. There’s no use in beating around the bush. 

The corners of Dedue’s lips quirk downward, just slightly. Interesting. “Yes, that. I am looking forward to being with everyone again.”

“You’re practically the last one here,” Sylvain complains, and Felix dodges his attempt at a side-hug. He shoots him mock puppy eyes, and Felix scoots away from him. 

“Who else is here?” He asks, ignoring Sylvain’s overacted sadness. 

“Let’s see… Obviously Petra and I, Dedue is Dimitri’s right hand man,” Dorothea says, counting names on her fingers. “Ferdie was here before but he left for his own territory a few weeks ago. He’s been splitting his time.” 

“Annette has been instrumental as well,” Dedue says. “She’s been taking on a lot of her father’s duties, so she’s been here nonstop.” 

“Sylvain and Ingrid have been here as part of Dimitri’s court. Mercedes still lives in Fhirdiad, but she’s often at the castle. You can’t forget Hapi, and Yuri has been in and out this whole time,” Petra notes. “Oh and Marianne!”

“I think Margrave Edmund is pushing for a marriage,” Sylvain stage whispers, and Dorothea jabs her elbow into his side. He yelps. “What?”

“The two of them are close friends. There’s no need to spread gossip,” Petra scolds. “Most from the Alliance and the Empire are spending time in their territory, but I know a few will be joining us later in the season.”

“So everyone except Ashe,” Felix muses. Guilt pangs at his stomach, just a little bit. He hasn’t answered his past few letters. They’ve been long, rambly sorts of things, full of literary references and news about his younger siblings. 

Petra and Dedue share a pointed look. 

“Have you and Ashe been in contact at all?” Sylvain asks, and he’s casual. Too casual. 

“A few letters,” Felix admits. “But not much.”

No one says anything, and the kitchen hustle and bustle grows dull around him. 

“Something’s wrong.” It isn’t a question. He can see it in the way they stand and the way their eyes flick across the room. 

“Yes, but don’t say it too loud,” Dorothea says, relaxing her body language. She’s always been a good actress. 

“You never know who’s listening,” Petra says, cuddling up into Dorothea. 

“Ashe’s situation is… complicated,” Dedue remarks. 

“He is still a vassal of House Rowe,” Petra says, and her voice is stony and cold. “They sided with the Empire during the war.”

“And Ashe defected,” Felix says. He’d asked him about it, maybe more harshly than he’d intended. He’d been surprised that the known knight fanatic would up and abandon his liege lord, but Ashe has only shrugged. The whitening of his knuckles as he gripped his bow had given him the answer he’d been looking for, though.

“House Rowe can’t punish him too severely, since he’s a war hero, now,” Sylvain says. Suddenly, his arms are around Felix, and Dedue suppresses a snort of laughter as Felix struggles against his grip. “But the former Dukedom lords have been testing His Highness. Everyone wants to see just how far they can get away with, ya know?”

“Everyone wants to see how much power they can grab in Fodlan’s new dawn,” Dedue remarks. “Dimitri can’t overstep too much too quickly, lest he risk destabling everything once again.”

“So Ashe is essentially a hostage,” Felix growls. Something large and warm rests on top of his head, and he jumps. Dedue’s fingers tap at the top of his head. 

“Relax,” he says. “You never know when someone might be watching.”

“Felix is always grumpy, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Dorothea says. He doesn’t bite back at her. Of course he’s angry. Ashe’s letters have been so strange recently, he should have noticed, how could he be so-

“Have you even unpacked yet?” Petra asks. “It is no use worrying if you’re too tired to help.”

“Of course I can help, tell me everything-”

“Felix, it will be okay,” she says. “Trust me. Visit around the castle. There is lots to be done, and we will need your anger.”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’ll be riding out to save him like one of his knight’s tales,” Sylvain jokes. “Oh, imagine that. Ashe, locked high in a tower. A duel with the fearsome knight guarding him. He’d love that.” 

“He should be arriving with Count Rowe tomorrow morning,” Dedue says. “After all, it is not as if Count Rowe can truly lock him up in a tower.”

Felix finally struggles free from Sylvain’s hug. He stretches and groans. Now that they mention it, he is stiff and sore from the ride. He really would be no help at all in a fight. 

They watch him with various degrees of bemusement on their faces as his joints pop. They’re right, and he hates them. 

“I am… a _little_ tired,” he admits. Sylvain laughs. 

“I’ll show you to your rooms. Your Majesty, we’ll be taking our leave.” He bows deeply to Petra, who laughs. 

“So formal! But I suppose I must also be going. I should write my grandfather the good news.” 

“Dimitri will return soon,” Dedue says. “I’ll let him know you made it.”

As quickly as everyone arrived, they’re gone again. 

“Everyone’s so busy now,” Sylvain remarks. He flashes Felix a grin, and he flushes just a little. “Follow me?”

The castle is smaller than he remembers - a side effect of growing up, he thinks. He follows Sylvain up the staircase, and he’s 10 again, taking the stone steps two at a time. He’d been so proud, one more marker of his growth. Now he’s twenty-two and it seems like an impossible hurdle once again. He creaks like his father used to; healing magic can only do so much to repair years of constant wear and tear, and well. Felix has been worn and torn a lot over the past five years. 

Sylvain tosses Felix a key, and he fumbles for it.

“I didn’t know whether or not you wanted to share a room or not,” he says. “I know you like your privacy.” 

The room is nice. It’s modest, he notes. It’s not unlike his dorm room at Garreg Mach, but larger. Nicer. The bed is large enough for two he notes, but Sylvain doesn’t even comment on it. There’s a desk, a vanity, and a few comfy looking chairs, but it’s rather plain. He’s heard rumors that the King of Faerghus has sold off most of the finery to pay for the reconstruction effort, and he believes them. 

“There’s a parlor through that door,” Sylvain says, gesturing to it. “And my room is attached, too! We use the same key, so you can get in anytime you like.”

“You mean, so you can sneak into my room at any hour of the night,” Felix says, examining his luggage. He didn’t pack much. He’s used to traveling light, but he still can’t shake the worry that he maybe, could have, accidentally forgotten something. But it all seems to have made it, and he sighs in relief.

“Hey, I’m offended! I’d at least knock,” Sylvain protests. Right on cue, a loud bang rings out against the solid door. He knows who it is before he opens it. 

“Bo- Dimitri.” 

“Felix! Dedue just informed me that you were here! I thought I’d stop by and say hello, if you’re not too busy unpacking.”

Annette pops her head out from behind him and waves. “We’re on a very tight schedule today, so we can’t stay too long! But Felix! It’s so nice to see you!”

Felix steps aside and lets them enter. Sylvain has already made himself comfortable in an armchair. 

“Hey, how’d it go?”

Dimitri sighs. He looks simultaneously better and worse than the last time Felix saw him. He’s filled out, no longer malnourished, but the bags under his eyes haven’t gone away yet. There’s a patch of stubble on the right side of his jaw. His hair and clothes aren’t disheveled, but they aren’t particularly neat either, as if they fell into disarray during the day and he hasn’t been able to fix them. He seems _tired_ , but not in the same way he was during the war. 

“It was alright,” he says, leaning against the wall. “I don’t particularly enjoy ceremonies, but the new canal should bring fresh water into the slums. So it was worth celebrating, in the end. We need to set up more food supplies in that district as well.”

“Sounds like a rough day,” Felix says, and Dimitri winces. 

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. I hope the room is to your liking, Cornelia did a real number on the castle. The east wing is entirely unusable, but fixing it is low on the priority list.”

“The room is fine,” he replies. Dimitri worries about him too much, but he supposed he’ll take it as a sign of the old Dimitri. A grin of relief spreads across Dimitri’s face. 

“Well, I figured everyone was too polite to tell me otherwise, but if you say it, it must be true.”

“We all had our share of sleeping on the hard, cold ground during the war,” Annette reminds him. She rummages in her bag and pulls out a paper. “Compared to that, this is paradise. Here’s this week’s schedule. Ooh, it is so nice to see that scowl again!”

It’s color coded. He must be making some sort of face because he can hear snickers (Sylvain, most likely) as he scans the page. The week is painstakingly marked out in fifteen minute intervals, carefully inscribed in Annette’s even cursive. 

“You’re joking.” 

“Welcome to Fhirdiad!” Sylvain singsongs. “Annette is a harsh taskmaster.”

“Bold words to say to someone who decides when you get time off,” she jokes. “There’s lots to be done. You should see our schedule.”

“Without Annette, hardly anything would get done around here,” Dimitri says. “She makes sure the court is productive.”

“It’s been a pretty cruel wake up call to the nobles who were used to court life under the late Regent,” Sylvain says. “Instead of falconry and dinner parties they end up packing wounds at refugee hospitals.”

“Good,” Felix says. “There’s no use for idle hands.”

“Still,” Dimitri cautions. “We must be careful not to overextend ourselves. The continent has had little to celebrate these past years. How have you been holding up? You look tired.”

There’s the concern again, and it pricks at him. Dimitri of all people is telling him he looks tired. As if he hasn’t been trying to hold together an entire continent by himself. As if he thinks Felix is the one who can’t handle it, as if he’s the one who would break down from the stress. 

“It’s been a long journey. I’ll be rested up for the ball tomorrow,” he says, a little shorter than he intends. Dimitri doesn’t seem to be offended. 

“Oh of course. In that case, I will take my leave. The two of you should enjoy your rest. Things will get hectic again tomorrow!” 

Annette winks at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to coordinate your time off!” They stride off, and Felix finds himself collapsing on the bed.

“Are they always like that?” 

“Strangely high energy and incredibly busy? Yes. I once had lunch with Dimitri where I watched him sign over thirty aid requests in as many minutes, all while discussing Sreng foreign policy. I think they each drink a lake of highly caffeinated tea every single day.”

“Nice to see them so overly concerned about my health while neglecting their own.”

“I mean, can you think of anything that describes them more? Honestly, most of our friends are like that. You included.” 

Felix studies him out of the corners of his eyes. Sylvain looks tired, the same tired Dimitri and Annette were. The same tired he catches in Dorothea, Dedue, and Petra. Does his own face look like that, too? There’s a small mirror on the desk, and he’s filled with the urge to run over and check, looking for bags under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders, missed stubble on the edge of his jaw. The war is over, but they’re all still so tired. 

“You look tired, Felix.” 

The bed dips, and Sylvain leans over him. “This is what you get for neglecting your horseback training.”

“You are,” Felix complains. “The last person in the world who should be accusing me of slacking on training.”

“Come on, turn over. You must be sore,” Sylvain says, and Felix doesn’t have the energy to complain. 

Syvain presses his thumbs against a knot in his thigh and he bites back a yelp. Still though, it feels good, the way his fingers dig into the tension in his back and thighs. 

“Remember how Annette used to be so small, and she could walk on your back and crack it for you? She used to do that for Dedue all the time.”

“Right, she did do that,” Felix mutters. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I’d snap you in half if I tried,” Sylvain says. “And if you want to experience the full massage, you should show some gratitude, you know.”

His hands stay steady and gentle regardless of his teasing. He moves from one leg to the other, and Felix is growing into the mattress. 

“Thanks,” he says, quietly, directed more towards the pillow. Sylvain pauses, the heel of his palm pressed directly into a knot on Felix’s calf. 

“You know what? Normally I’d make a big deal about the Felix Hugo Fraldarius showing genuine affection-”

“You clearly are,” Felix points out, and Sylvain glosses right over him. 

“-but you’re welcome. I missed you a lot. There you go! All done.”

Felix stretches his legs out, and he must admit they feel a lot better. 

“You’re all set for dancing at the ball.”

“Do I seem like the ballroom dancing type?”

“Well, maybe not ballroom dancing, but I seem to remember the White Heron Cup-”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Sylvain lies down next to him, and they stay like that for a while. Sylvain is warm, he can feel his body heat through the gap between their skin. They don’t touch, but after months without him, his presence is enough. Even if he can’t bring himself to say it. 

“I know a lot has changed since you left,” Sylvain starts, and the bed shifts as he turns towards him. “But it’s going to be good, Felix. You don’t have to worry.”

“Who said I’m worried?” He grumbles. 

“I can see it all over your face. I know you’re worried about Ashe.”

“I never responded to his letter,” Felix admits. 

“He understands, you know that. There’s so much to worry about, I think he’d tell you to focus on more important things.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” Felix says. “I know that already.” 

Still, thinking of Ashe dealing with Count Rowe alone makes his stomach sour. Sylvain props himself up on his elbows, and looks down at him. He doesn’t say anything, and guilt stabs him, right in the chest. Sylvain, and Dimitri, and everyone else are just trying to help. He’s been holed up north sorting out Fraldarius territory. Court is an entirely different beast. His father always used to complain about playing the political game, despite being so good at it. 

“It’s getting late, I’ll leave you be,” Sylvain says. He should ask him to stay. They’re dating after all. He wants him to stay. 

The bed creaks as Sylvain stands up and stretches. “I have some reading to do, so I’ll be a little later. You should have at least one good night’s sleep.” A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “I could stay, but who knows what will happen-”

The curse is broken and Sylvain dodges the pillow whipped at his head.

“That’s the spunk I was missing!” He leaves through the shared door, then pops his head back in. “If you need anything, just knock!”

Then he’s gone, and Felix sinks back down. Sylvain always seems to know what he's thinking, and he isn’t wrong. Felix wants to sleep in the same bed, to touch him, to be touched by him. But his head is already cloudy, and Annette’s schedule lies on his desk, mocking him. 

The war is over. They have time. And right now, he is so very tired.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As promised, I'm trying to get updates out on a more regular schedule. 
> 
> I also wanted to give you a little content warning for this fic. As we start to get into the sexy stuff, some of Felix and Sylvain's emotional issues will end up playing into and affecting those scenes. It might be a little uncomfortable, but if you need any additional warnings, feel free to let me know! That's all, and please enjoy! This chapter is a bit of a monster.

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 18 _

There’s a steady stream of party guests crossing the bridge to the castle. Sylvain leans out as far as he can out the window, squinting down at them. He wobbles slightly, and Felix hooks an arm around his waist, just in case. 

“Aw, babe!” Sylvain says, and for a solid second, he contemplates letting him go. “Hey look, there’s Ashe!”

Now it’s Felix’s turn to lean out over the windowsill. Ashe doesn’t look up, but urges his Horse along behind Count Rowe. He looks alright, he supposes. He doesn’t really know what he expected. It’s not as if Count Rowe was starving him and locking him away in the dungeon. He squints down. Is he thinner than he remembered? Or is it just his own paranoia? 

“Hey, it’s alright, you’ll get to see him tonight, remember? I promise you, he’s going to be just fine. The guy is way stronger than he looks, after all.”

“Come on, let’s see if Annette needs any help.” He unwraps his arm from around him and strides toward the doors. They make their way down through the castle, avoiding the front hall where guests are being shown to their rooms. The last thing he wants is to be spotted and have to disentangle himself from the crowd. It’s bad enough that he’ll have to socialize tonight. 

At least he can get away from the chaos for a little bit, he thinks, pushing the doors open to the ballroom. 

There’s a loud sniffle, and that illusion is broken. He can’t help but gape at Annette, sitting in a chair, surrounded by heaps and heaps of fabric. 

“Are you okay?” Sylvain asks, and he rushes over. Dedue gingerly picks through the pile of fabric. 

“Guests are arriving and it’s already a mess,” Annette says. She’s bent over, staring at her shaking hands. “I pulled out the decorations and they’re just… destroyed. I knew Cornelia left everything in shambles but I didn’t expect it’d be this bad.”

Felix picks up a piece of cloth, and he finally recognizes it. Old tapestries, painstakingly woven and embroidered with centuries of Faerghus history. When they were little, they’d sneak down into the unused ballroom and play pretend, acting out their favorite scenes. Kings and queens, knights and dragons, holy men and clerics, they’d play masquerade by moonlight, long after they were supposed to be in bed. 

“I think she let people use them for target practice,” Annette says miserably. “There’s no decorations left, and the cooks are already running behind, and we had to put half of the visitors up in local inns because the west wing was reduced to rubble from Imperial meteor strikes and why are we even throwing a party, there’s so much else to do and-”

“This one is salvageable,” Dedue says. “It is only slightly singed on the corner. We’ll hide that behind a table, or something.”

“This one isn’t half bad, either,” Sylvain calls out. “Honestly, if we can just get two or three more I think we can put the rest away until we find a way to fix them.”

Annette’s hands twist in her skirt, creasing and uncreasing the fabric. Felix reaches out and pulls them away. 

“Hey. You’re going to ruin your dress.” Annette looks up at him, panic etched across her face. She lets go of it, and takes in a deep breath. 

“One thing at a time, Annie. Just one thing at a time-” She does a double take, irritation replacing fear. “Is that seriously what you’re going to wear tonight?”

“Wha-what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He sputters, and Annette buries her face in her hands. 

“Goddess, please, grant me strength,” she moans. Felix subconsciously checks his clothes, and glances over at the others. Now that he’s checking, Dedue is dressed far nicer than him, in a dark jacket covered in traditional Duscur patterns. Even Sylvain looks handsome, forgoing the armor he’s been used to seeing him in during the war for an embroidered sash and vest. Suddenly he feels incredibly out of place in just a nice shirt and pants. Did he even bring anything more formal? He thinks he has a nice coat tucked in a bag somewhere-

He shakes his head. Annette’s worrying is getting to him. 

The door slams open. 

“Annie! Sorry I’m late, I ended up bringing too much and I had to get Ingrid to help me!” Mercedes calls out joyfully. She stops dead in her tracks, and Ingrid barely manages to avoid smacking into her. “Oh my, what happened here?”

Annette gestures helplessly at the barren room. Mercedes scans the room.

“Well, we’ll have it fixed up in no time! There’s nothing the Blue Lions can’t accomplish when they’re working together!” She says, and Annette lets out a sigh of relief that clears the gloom of the whole room. 

Dedue stands up and stretches, surveying the walls with a critical eye. “If we can’t use the tapestries, we could decorate with greenery instead. Holly, evergreen wreaths, whatever is in season. I’ll let the castle staff know and they can get that set up.”

“And don’t worry about the lodgings,” Sylvain says, carefully folding up the damaged tapestries. The party has made Fhirdiad really lively today, I think the innkeepers will be thrilled at all the coin they’re bringing in.”

“The ball is going to be great,” Ingrid says. “Brigid food is delicious, and the cooks are doing a great job.”

“And you’d know that… how?” Sylvain accuses, and Ingrid shrugs. 

“Someone needed a sampler, I just happened to be passing the kitchen at the time.”

“Oh sure, you just “happened” to be there, huh?” Felix mutters. 

“Mercedes, I’ll drop this off with His Highness. Nice to see you, Felix! We’ll catch up later!” She turns on her heel and sprints off, probably with plans to stop back by the kitchen on her way down. 

“Thanks, dear!” Mercedes says. “Felix, is that seriously what you’re wearing?”

“Not you, too.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Annette says. She focuses on her breathing. “I’m sorry for panicking. I just… didn’t expect it would be this much work, and then I saw the tapestries and I just...:”

Mercedes crouches down, and takes Annette’s hands. 

“It’s okay, Annie. They’re just things. And things can be fixed! We’ll just focus on what we can do right now, and then we’ll all have fun tonight.”

Annette smiles, the tension in her posture evaporating as she straightens up. 

“We’ll divide up what needs to be done,” Dedue says. “Mercedes, can you and Sylvain handle decorations? I’ll round up Ingrid and we’ll make sure the food is coming along. I suspect the cooks are having a bit of trouble adjusting to Brigid cuisine.”

“Felix, can you help me with the seating arrangements? I have a few other things to take care of, too.” Annette stands up, clenching her fists. “Alright, we can do this! Our goal is to make this a night of fun and celebration for Petra!”

“Woo! For Petra!” Sylvain yells from across the hall, where he’s trying to hang a tapestry. 

“For Petra,” Dedue says, a smile creeping onto his face. He thinks he’s seen Dedue smile more in these past twenty-four hours than during the past five years. Well, he can’t blame him.

“Let’s get to work!” Mercedes says cheerfully, and with that, the rest of them rush away with renewed vigor. Felix and Annette are alone, and the room seems massive. 

“Here, set these up at the table to the right. Start from the top left side, they should be in the right order. Make sure there’s enough plates and utensils on each side. I’ll arrange the center pieces.”

Annette hands him a stack of name cards, and he dutifully begins placing them. Annette hums as they work, and they slip into a familiar rhythm, back when they were doing chores at Garreg Mach. 

“I’m so glad you’re all here,” she says, cutting off her song. “I’ve missed all of you, and well. It’s been a lot.”

“It’s not a problem,” he says, and it isn’t. Annette puts too much on herself. Always has. 

“It’s just… usually my father handles these things,” Annette confesses. “He’s not good at the aesthetics of party planning, but he’s good at logistics.”

“Where is he? I haven’t seen him since I’ve arrived,” Felix asks. Annette sighs. 

“Dimitri forced him to take a few weeks off. ‘Gustave,’” she said, forcing her voice lower to mimic him. Felix can’t help but snort. “‘You work so hard, why don’t you take the next two weeks off? Annette is more than capable of taking over your duties. Spend some time with your wife!’ It wasn’t a suggestion.

“But I’m glad he did that,” She continues. “My father has been throwing himself into his work, and hasn’t been home very often. I think he still feels guilty. But not my parents can spend the next two weeks celebrating the holidays. And sleeping in different bedrooms.”

“Well, with the way you’re freaking out, it’s not like we need Gustave around after all,” Felix remarks, gingerly setting down a handwritten name card on the table. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Annette says.

“You’re acting just like him, worrying so much about stupid, inconsequential things. You don’t have to be like your father. Honestly, you really shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you, of all people.” She says, her voice quiet, but still cutting. “And this does matter, whether you like it or not.”

“It’s the truth.”

The name cards he was holding scatter across the table, and Annete lets go of his wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong from years of hurling axes around. 

“Go get changed, Felix. I’ll handle the rest of this.” It comes out stilted, through gritted teeth. 

“Annette, I-”

“Put on something nice.”

He watches her stoop to pick up the fallen cards, and he turns around and walks away. He’s smart enough to recognize when a conversation is over. 

He skulks through the hallways and is about to head up the stairs when he hears his name. He turns around, and Ashe pulls him into the spiral staircase. 

“Felix! I’m so happy to see you! Did you get my letters?” Ashe asks, and he looks just as excited as he remembered. His eyes hadn’t betrayed him - he did look thinner, the bags under his eyes a little more pronounced. 

“I- Yes, sorry, I did. Things have been… busy up north,” It isn’t a lie, but he still feels guilty saying it. It’s even worse when Ashe just pats him on the shoulder and gives him a radiant smile. 

“I thought that might be the case! I was so worried about you!”

“Enough about me, Sylvain filled me in-” Ashe puts his hand over his mouth.

“Don’t speak so loud, Felix. I only slipped away for a moment. I’m okay. My siblings are safe, that’s all that matters.”

“Is he hurting you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. But I don’t have a lot of freedom to move around right now. This’ll just have to be our little secret, okay?” He holds his finger to his lips and grins. “Enjoy the party, Felix. It’ll be a good one.”

“Ashe?” A voice calls out and Ashe rolls his eyes. 

“Over here, my lord!” He says, and trudges down the stairs. Felix slumps against the wall and groans. Maybe the others are used to the whirlwind of court, but he’s already exhausted, and he hasn’t even made it to the ball yet. 

He wanders back to his room, and shuts the door behind him. He’s managed to avoid his friends, which is a relief. He shouldn’t have said that to Annette, at least, not now. She needs to hear it, sooner rather than later, but maybe he didn’t time it well. Still the best way to make it up to her would be to take her request seriously. 

Sylvain would immediately have moved all of his personal effects into his room, but Felix figured he’d deal with it later. Sylvain probably had the right idea, because now Felix is throwing articles of clothing around the room like a tornado. He has to have something nice, his uncle insisted he bring at least something, even when he’d argued that Dimitri is not the kind of king who cares about that sort of thing. 

He finally finds what he’s looking for at the bottom of his trunk, and he scowls. The coat is nice enough, and it will have to do. He pulls it on, and examines himself in the mirror. Dark pant tucked into dark boots, a clean shirt collar poking out of a fur-trimmed short coat. It’s fine. It’s inoffensive, at the very least. Should he do something with his hair? 

He pulls his hair out of his ponytail, and grimaces as it falls around his shoulders. He immediately puts it back up again. He’ll just use a fancier ribbon as a tie. 

It’s like Annette has infected his brain, and he forces himself to stop primping. 

“A good first impression is always important,” his father would say, and Goddess, he’s starting to understand how Dimitri must feel. He doesn’t need the two of them with their own hangups pushing him like this. He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that it’s fine, and leaves. 

Annette’s schedule had helpfully informed him to meet at Dimitri’s quarters at 5:30, and he manages to arrive just on time. He raises his hand to knock on the door, and Dedue opens it before he can. 

“I thought that might be you,” he says, and invites him in. He awkwardly follows him into the room. “As Duke Fraldarius, you’ll be a part of our party.” 

Dimitri’s quarters are plain, which is to be expected. If he didn’t know him so well, he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone lived here. But there’s well worn books on the shelves, and what appears to be a rudimentary embroidery project on the table, and his eyes spot at least three small knives hidden in case of an assassination attempt. 

“Is that Felix?” Dimitri calls out. “I’d come out to meet you, but I am… being detained, as it were.”

“If you don’t sit still it will take longer!” Mercedes says, and Felix pokes his head into the King’s bedroom. Annette watches, bemused, as Mercedes fiddles with Dimitri’s hair. “Oh, you look much better in that, Felix. I’ll let him go shortly, this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

If Annette is still angry about early, and Felix is sure she is, she doesn’t show it. She just gives his outfit a nod of approval. She herself has changed, and it is a bit strange to see her in a ballgown. He’s so used to seeing the rest of them dressed practically for war, that seeing his class let their hair down is odd. 

“Is it done yet?” Dimitri says, attempting to turn his head. 

“Hold still,” Mercedes scolds. “There we go.” She lifts the circlet and places it gently on top of his head. 

“Thanks, Mercedes. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“My pleasure! I like fashion, so it’s been very fun helping everyone prepare. I even managed to find Ingrid something she likes, and that’s reward enough!” She turns back around and rummages in her bag. “Oh, I almost forgot.”

She reaches up and unhooks Dimitri’s eyepatch. He feels like he should look away, but he can’t tear his eyes away as the cloth falls away.He’s never seen under the eyepatch. He’s never asked, and Dimitri never brings it up. Scars twist the skin around the socket, and the eyelid is carefully stitched shut. He briefly wonders if it’s Mercedes’ handiwork - it’s a question he can never ask.

“How’s the glass eye treating you?”

“It’s taken some getting used to, but it’s much more comfortable.” He says. She murmurs little comforting noises as she reaches out, her fingers glowing with white magic. Dimitri flinches just a little, and leans into her touch. 

“Good, we don’t want the socket collapsing. No signs of infection, the scarring seems to be reducing,” she announces, snapping her fingers and the glow goes out. “You’ve been taking care of it. Keep it up.”

He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be watching. Dedue studies his nails, and Annette gazes out the window. It’s private, but neither Dimitri or Mercedes are kicking them out. He should look away, too. Instead, he watches as Mercedes wraps a piece of embroidered cloth around his head, letting it drape down and cover the right side of his face. 

“There you go, that’s a bit more festive, I think!” She says, and Dimitri laughs. He examines it in the mirror. 

“I recognize these patterns - lots of protection charms, I see?”

“It never hurts,” she says. “I snuck a whole bunch onto Ingrid’s clothes as well. Alright then, I’m going to meet up with the others. I’ll see the rest of you at the ball!”

She sizes Felix up on the way out. “Next time, let me dress you as well,” she says, and Felix sighs in annoyance. Annette snickers into her fist. Mercedes gives them all a wave and leaves. Dimitri waits until the door shuts behind him before speaking. 

“Thank you, all of you. Tonight will be stressful, but I think we’ll be able to have a good time,” He says. “Felix, apologies for throwing you into this so last minute. But the three of you are my closest advisors, so I wanted you all to join me tonight.”

“I haven’t done much,” Felix says. Dedue doesn’t contradict him, but nods toward him. 

“Well, I still appreciate it. Where would I be without the Sword, Shield, and Brains of the King?”

He stands up, and knocks the chair over. He scrambles to fix it, and Felix reminds himself that despite how regal he looks, it’s still just Dimitri. 

“Well then, shall we?” Dedue says, and they take their places behind him - Felix to the left, Dedue to the right, and Annette in the center. 

“This is going to be fun,” Dimitri says, and it’s less of a statement, and more of a wish. 

* * *

“Duke Fraldarius, my condolences. Your father was a good man,” someone says to him. Felix nods back, pushing the food around on his plate. 

“Thank you, I appreciate your support in this difficult time,” he says, automatically. When Glenn died, he had never bothered to thank anyone. He can’t even remember the reception after the funeral, if he’d even attended it. Over these past few months, he’s gotten good, almost too good, at regurgitating the same polite lines of gratitude he’d heard his father repeat as a child. 

“How are you holding up?” Dorothea asks him. Petra and Dimitri are busy smiling and laughing, greeting dignitaries from Brigid and Fodlan alike. For all his worry, Dimitri looks natural like this. Felix feels completely out of place, but at least Dorothea is seated at the high table. Being the Queen of Brigid’s Royal Consort (a title he’s sure Dorothea invented for herself) has its perks. 

“I don’t know any of these people,” he grumbles. Dedue leans over, obviously eavesdropping on their conversations. “Like, who is Ingrid chatting up by the buffet?”

“That is the current head of the Adrestian Ministry of Agriculture,” Dedue supplies, helpfully. “I believe Ferdinand introduced them last time he was here. Something about revitalizing Galatea’s soil.”

“What about her?” Dedue peers around to the squat woman shaking hands with Petra. 

“That is the director of a charitable healer’s association in Fhirdiad. There’s talk of sending some healers to Brigid to learn traditional medicine applications.” 

“Do you know everyone in this room?”

Dedue shrugs. “I stay well informed. You’d be wise to as well.”

“How are you doing up here?” Petra says, swooping in to give Dorothea a kiss on the cheek. “Is the food to your liking?”

“It is truly delicious,” Dedue says. “I would love to talk to the cooks about it more. I think some of these flavors would go well with Duscur cuisine.”

“I would love to try that!” Petra says. “I am glad that everyone seems to be enjoying it.”

“It’s a big hit!” Dorothea says. 

“It would be very good for us if Fodlan became hooked on Brigid food,” Petra says, her voice dropping lower. “I’ve already had several merchant houses ask for trading contracts. I’m happy to take whatever leverage I can get.”

“Well, they say the fastest way to someone’s heart is through their stomach,” Dorothea says. Petra grins at that. 

“Ah, excuse me for a moment. We will have more time after the speeches. Then I will show you a good time on the dance floor!”

Felix sneaks a look over at Annette. She’s on the other side of Dedue, chatting up yet another noble he doesn’t recognize. He should say something, he thinks, but instead he takes another bite of his food. 

A sharp, clear ringing echoes across the ballroom, and the chatter instantly dies. Petra places her fork and goblet down. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Dimitri says. His voice is commanding, authoritative, filling every corner of the room. “It warms my heart to see friends gathered from all corners of Fodlan to celebrate our steadfast allies. I am honored to present the Queen Petra of Brigid.”

Petra stands, the light from the candles gilding her profile. She looks less and less like the girl he met at Garreg Mach all these years ago. She takes a deep breath, and begins to speak. 

“Thank you. This has been a long day coming. Some days, during the depths of the war, I thought perhaps it would never come.” A small smile creeps across her face. “But the day has come, for Fodlan and Brigid to work together, as equals, and as allies.”

“To prove our commitment to our shared future, Faerghus has promised all that is necessary to rebuild Brigid to its former glory. Many have suffered, across both our countries, and we are honored to walk together, step by step as we rebuild,” Dimitri continues. 

“Not only will we rebuild,” Petra says. “But through our alliance, we shall work towards a brighter future, one that can only be achieved by growing and sharing, as equal partners.”

“Lovely speech, isn’t it?” Dorothea whispers in Felix’s ear. “They’ve been so nervous, Sylvain and I have been diligently training them.”

“You, I can believe,” Felix whispers back. “But Sylvain has never been diligent in anything in his life.”

Dedue disguises a laugh as a cough into his napkin. 

“-mutual defense pact,” Petra says, and Felix scrambles to catch up with the speech.”I have learned much in my time in Fodlan, and I am thrilled to not only bring back what I have learned, but to share Brigid’s knowledge with our allies.”

“Technology, medicine, magic… there is much we can learn from Brigid, and much we can share,” Dimitri says. He stumbles slightly over his lines, and Felix involuntarily bites down on his lips. 

“We are especially grateful to Count Rowe,” Petra says.

“What,” Felix says, a little louder than he intends. Someone kicks him under the table. Dedue, maybe, but he wouldn’t put it past Annette, despite her short legs. 

“-for his assistance in the formation of Brigid’s own knightly order,” Petra continues, as if Felix hasn’t made a complete fool out of himself. “As part of our defense agreement, we are excited to welcome Fodlan’s finest warriors to Brigid for joint training. WIth our combined might, even Dagda will be no threat to us.”

A rousing cheer echoes from some Adrestian nobles. Imperial memories are long, Felix notes. He isn’t surprised Dagda would come sniffing around, looking for an easy target weakened by war.

“Tonight, we are proud to honor one of Fodlan’s heroes. As a sign of our bond, we welcome the first knight of this new order. Ashe Duran, please rise.”

“ _ What,”  _ Felix says, quieter this time. No one kicks him. Annette, Dedue, and Dorothea don’t look surprised, serene smiles painted across their faces. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know about this?”

“Kneel,” Dimitri says. “Be it known that I, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, King of Faerghus, by virtue of your honor, loyalty, and valor bestow upon you the rank of knighthood. Do you swear to uphold the code of chivalry, to protect and serve, by your honor, and the honor of your liege, as long as you shall live?

“I swear,” Ashe says, head bowed. 

“As your liege, it is my honor to bestow upon you the title of Lord Ashe Duran of Gaspard, Knight of the order of the Blue Sun.” He taps Ashe’s shoulders with Areadbhar. “We will need all of your bravery, resourcefulness, and kindness to lead Fodlan into a brighter future.”

Petra presents Ashe with his spurs, and he rises. She raises her goblet. 

“To our future, together!” She announces, and the whole room raises their glasses.

“To our future,” everyone echoes, and the room erupts in excited noise. 

“We won’t keep you from the celebration any long,” Dimitri assures them. “We look forward to our continued partnership.”

“As my first official order as the Queen of the newly independent Brigid, I ask for all of you to share in our joy tonight. Thank you!” Petra says, and with that, the two monarchs bow to their guests, and take their seats. They’re immediately mobbed by others. Felix knows the feeling. 

“Did everyone else know about this? How did you get around Count Rowe?” He asks, and Dorothea laughs. 

“That’s a good look for you, Felix,” she says. “All that confusion. It was all Petra’s idea, truthfully.”

“The easiest way to get someone to do something for you is to make them believe it was their idea in the first place,” Annette says, speaking to him for the first time all night. 

“She’s been worried about Dagda invading Brigid, and was hoping for assistance in boosting their defenses. Count Rowe controls Arianrhod, after all. He has experience with invasions. Wanting to get on the good side of a powerful ally is a pretty large incentive,” Dorothea says. “We paid him a visit a while back, did some hunting together. It didn’t take much convincing at all.”

“They do call him a weathervane for a reason,” Dedue says. “With Ashe as Lord of Gaspard, and Count Rowe tentatively on our side, we’ve made some strong political allies in the west.”

“Not bad for something stupid and inconsequential,” Annette says under her breath, and Felix winces. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he says. Annette sighs and puts down her fork. 

“I forgive you,” she says. “But Felix, there’s a lot you can’t fix with a sword. You have to use this.” She taps her head. “And this.” She places her hand over her heart. “Give it a try sometime.”

“My heart will not stop pounding,” Petra says, wrapping her arms around Dorothea. “Care to join me for a dance? First dance of the night!”

“I thought you’d never ask. Is it alright for me to pull you away from politics for a moment?” Dorothea says. Petra laughs. 

“Of course! Once we get back to Brigid, we’ll have far more time,” she says, and she takes her by the hand and leads her down to the dance floor. 

“Looks like someone should rescue Dimitri before he gets swarmed,” Annette remarks. “Are either of you going to dance?”

“I promised Mercedes a dance earlier,” Dedue says. 

“I don’t like dancing,” Felix says. Annette sighs. 

“Sorry Sylvain, I tried,” she says. “At least mingle, okay?”

He reluctantly follows her down into the crowd of guests. She’s shorter than the rest, but the copper of her hair stands out among them, so he follows that until his eyes begin to wander, searching for another redhead. 

“Duke Fraldarius, my condolences-”

“Duke Fraldarius, I am so sorry for your loss-”

“Duke Fraldarius, may the Goddess bless you in your time of loss-”

“Thank you, I appreciate your support in this difficult time,” he says, again, and again, weaving in and out through the crowds. There, out of the corner of his eye, a flash of red hair. He turns toward it and stops. 

Sylvain is chatting to a young woman. He takes her by the hand, and leads her out into the hallway, away from prying eyes. A chill travels up his spine, replaced by red hot anger. Stupid. He should have known that Sylvain wouldn’t change. 

“Duke Fraldarius, I-”

He turns on the man, about to snap. There’s a hand on his back, and Ingrid steps beside him. 

“Ah, Lord Heinrich, a pleasure to see you again! I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow Felix here for a moment?”

“Lady Galatea, the pleasure is mine. I trust you father is well? Is he here tonight?”

She laughs, bright and sunny. “I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for me, I am representing House Galatea tonight. But I will send him your regards. You must come visit this summer!”

“It would be my honor and pleasure.” Lord Heinrich bows to the two of them. “Lady Galatea. Duke Fraldarius.”

Ingrid steers him through the room, and out onto the balcony. It’s cold, so cold that no one else would join them out here. Fhirdiad glistens below them, and Felix shrugs off her hand. 

“You looked like you needed some cool air,” she says. “That coat is way too heavy for a room that hot.”

“It’s not like I had anything else to wear,” he says. He glances over at her. Even without much knowledge of fashion, he can see that Mercedes did a fantastic job on her clothes. A long, embroidered jacket falls past her thighs, hanging more like a dress on her figure, but open and freeing enough that she can move in it. He can imagine Mercedes lamenting over not being able to force her into a ballgown, but it’s a good compromise. 

“Thank you,” he says. “For rescuing me.”

Ingrid leans up against the railing. “Think nothing of it,” she says. “It must be a lot. Everyone wants to meet the new Duke Fraldarius.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Of what?” She shrugs. “I thought we were talking about you.”

“Are you jealous of Ashe?” She stares at him. “It was your dream, after all.”

“Why would I be? I’m happy for him,” she says, in the same measured Ingrid way. “He deserves it.”

“Do you still dream of Knighthood?”

“The only dreams of fighting and killing I have are nightmares,” she laughs. “But yes, in a way. There’s a lot I need to sort out of Galatea first. But it’ll be me, one day.”

He can see it now, Ingrid kneeling before Dimitri, and once the thought would have turned his stomach. He doesn’t know what he thinks now, but the look in Ingrid’s eyes stops him. She’s looking right through the stars, at her ticket away from the cold, barren earth of Galatea. 

The door creaks behind him. 

“Ah, so this is where you’ve gone. Aren’t you two chilly out here?” Ashe pokes his head out into the winter air, and shivers. Dedue follows him, and the four of them find themselves huddled together when a gust of cold wind roars across the balcony. 

“There’s a winter storm up in Gautier,” Dedue mentions. “The weather will be awful these next few days. Lots of cold air coming our way.”

“Let it come,” Felix grumbles, unable to hide his teeth chattering. “Don’t you two have a party to attend.”

“I could say the same for you,” Ashe says. “I needed a break. Suddenly every noble in the room wanted to congratulate me. It’s uh… overwhelming, to say the least.”

“Well, I hope you won’t mind one more congratulation,” Ingrid says. “That’s so exciting! And Gaspard territory, too!”

“Lonato would be proud,” Dedue says. “You’ll do a great job.”

“I almost turned it down,” Ashe admits. “It will be a lot to handle. One burden removed, another added, I’m afraid. But my siblings are excited to return to the castle they grew up in, and I’m looking forward to visiting Brigid. I owe so much to Petra.”

“You’ll do good,” Felix says. “You’re smarter than you look. People underestimate you.”

“Such high praise,” Ingrid says, and Ashe chuckles. It reverberates through them as another gust of wind cuts right through them.

“We should go inside,” Dedue mumbles, shifting from foot to foot.

“Just a little bit longer,” Ashe gasps. 

There’s a growling noise, and they turn to stare at Ingrid. “Sorry, i just… I’m still hungry,” she whispers. “The food is so good.”

“Isn’t it?” Ashe says. “I got one of the cooks to show me how she seasons the meat, I can’t wait to get a closer look when I’m there.”

“Ah, your motivation comes out,” Dedue says. “I should have known you took the position just to learn about their food.”

“Dedue, you wound me,” Ashe protests. “Of course you know I’ll bring back everything I learn to share with you!”

“That’s it, I’m out of here,” Felix says, breaking free from their huddle. “Even a hundred noblemen’s hollow condolences is better than all of this cooking talk.”

Ingrid shrieks as the cold air hits her front and the three huddle in together. 

“Alright, alright, we’ll stop,” Ashe says. “Come on, let’s go back inside. Shall we see if we can slip down to the kitchens?”

“That would be a lovely idea,” Dedue says. “I think after this cold we’ll need a warm drink. Ingrid?”

“That sounds,” Ingrid says, blowing warm air into her hands. “Absolutely perfect. Let’s make a break for it.”

He slows his steps as they enter, letting the three of them weave in between the crowd until they’re out of sight. He needs to find Sylvain. 

He shuts his eyes and lets the conversations in the room wash over him. 

“-It’s only fair of me to come visit during the summer, I’m afraid. You’ll want to leave before the week ends, the priests are predicting a cold snap.” Dimitri. He recognizes his voice right away, and Petra laughs in response. Not the people he’s looking for. 

“We are very excited that the Sorcerer's Academy was so welcoming. There’s a lot we can learn from Fodlan techniques.” He doesn’t recognize that one, but their accent tells them they’re from Brigid. 

“Ooh, I’m so excited to really dive into Brigid magic systems! Her Majesty mentioned some incredibly sophisticated formulas I’ve never seen before in Fodlan-” but he recognizes that one. Annette’s passion for knowledge bubbles over, despite her attempts to stay formal. 

“There’s definitely a market for that sort of good in Derdriu. Now, what I’m suggesting is an exhibition of traditional crafts for the Millenium Festival. Millennium Plus Two Festival?” Peals of laughter break out after that atrocious joke. That voice sounds eerily familiar, but it slurs and slips around so much he can’t place it. He scans the room, and he can scarcely believe his eyes. 

Ignatz is chatting up a crowd of Brigid delegates. Felix picks his way across the room. Ignatz’s face is flushed, and it lights up when he gets into view. 

“Felix! Welcome!”

“I didn’t know you were here,” Felix says. He bows to the delegates, and they bow back. 

“Sir Victor has been a great help,” One of them tells him.

“Everyone is so nice,” Ignatz says, taking another swig from his goblet. Felix reaches out and gently takes it from his hand. 

“You should drink some water.”

“Probably!” Ignatz says cheerfully. “What is this stuff? We usually drink wine in the Alliance.”

“Yes, it is quite strong,” says one of the delegates, a petite woman. She sways slightly as she speaks. “What is it made out of? I think it would be popular in Brigid.”

“Um, we ferment whatever we can grow,” Felix says. 

“Resourceful! I like it!”

“Oh Felix, it’s so exciting! Petra has commissioned me to do a series of landscape paintings all the way in Brigid!”

“That’s great news,” Felix says, watching their little circle cautiously. There- just over Ignatz’s shoulder he can see Sylvain climbing the stairs with a plate of appetizers. He just needs to extricate himself, but Ignatz has already thrown his arm over his shoulder. 

“Of course, my work will pale in comparison to my friends’. Did you know that Aisa over here is a master tattooist? She was explaining to me so much about their art history-”

“That’s nice,” he says. Ignatz is hanging all over him, and his companions are not much more sober than him. He searches around the room desperately. “Do you… want to sit down?”

“You know Felix, you’re actually so considerate, despite what people say.” He should be offended at that, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care. “Actually, I think I’d like to dance.”

“I’m not interested,” Felix says, and Ignatz just laughs and lets go of him. 

“Your loss! Miss Aisa, care to join me?” He and the tipsy woman take hands and set off, swaying to the beat. Or perhaps from drinking too much. 

“You’ll make sure they drink some water, right?” He asks their companions, who both nod vigorously. Felix sighs, and makes for the stairs. This must be what Annette feels like every second of the day. 

He climbs the stairs, placing each foot carefully to avoid noise. Sylvain is sitting against the railing, chatting with Dorothea and Yuri. Mercedes sits next to them, sipping from her glass. They don’t notice him approaching. 

“Oh, there’s Baron von Vittelle,” Dorothea says. “He was obsessed with me. The other opera stars had to block him from trying to get into my room. What a creep.”

“I remember him,” Yuri says, taking a swig from his cup. He pulls a face, and peers down at the man. “He likes them young.”

“Speaking of liking them young,” Sylvain says. “Is that the Countess of Moldach? Now that is definitely one of my biggest regrets.”

“Ugh, and Lord Delphin. He acts so sweet but he is far too rough,” Yuri says. 

“Yeah, he is into some dark stuff,” Sylvain says, muttering into his cup. “Also one of my biggest regrets.”

“I’m assuming another one is whichever gave you that bruise,” Dorothea laughs. Sylvain snorts.

“Nah, I deserved this one,” he jokes. He looks up, and double takes. “Felix! Finally escaped the crowd, I see.”

Felix gingerly sits down on the stairs next to Yuri. There’s a massive hand shaped mark covering Sylvain’s right cheek, and he can’t help but feel a little satisfied at that. The only thing preventing him from doing the same on the other cheek is the thought of Annette’s face as she watches him start a fight in the middle of her party.

“At least let me heal it,” Dorothea says. “It’s going to swell up something awful.”

“If you heal it the lesson won’t stick,” Mercedes says. “Oh, Ignatz is having such a good time out there! How wonderful.”

“He’s having too good of a time,” Felix says. “Who hit you.” It comes out more of an accusation than a question, and Sylvain shrugs. 

“Eris Nichols. Daughter of a prominent merchant family. I kinda…” he sighs. “I broke her heart, back when we were in school.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Dorothea says, and takes a large swig of her drink. She coughs, sputters, and gives the glass a glare. 

“She did accept my apology, though,” Sylvain says. “Which is nice.”

“She slapped you,” Yuri says. 

“I think she used the word ‘catharsis,’” Sylvain says. “I mean, I don’t blame her. But we had a nice talk. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, but it’s a start.” Relief flutters in his chest, even as skepticism threatens to crush it down again.Sylvain seems sincere, but he’s seen that same song and dance from him too many times.

“One down, two hundred to go,” Dorothea says. “How many hearts have you broken?”

“Not that many!”

“Oh look,” Mercedes says. “There’s a merchant who courted me for a while. The Sisters scared him off, he’s at least three times my age.”

Felix peers down at the dancers, their bright clothing swirling around the dance floor. 

“Not going to dance with Petra?” Yuri asks, and Dorothea takes another sip of alcohol. 

“She promised she’d save me a dance. There’s a whole host of people from Fodlan and Brigid alike that want to dance with the Queen,” she says. “I’ve had enough of the upper crust. I can’t wait to go back home.”

“I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to all of these people’s faces once King Dimitri takes them along on his charity work. Everyone’s happy to rub shoulders with the king, but let’s see who sticks around when he’s wading through the slums,” Yuri remarks. 

Dimitri whirls Petra around below them, and they stop and laugh, dizzy. Petra waves up at them, and Dorothea blows her a kiss back. 

“Come down!” She mouths up, and Dorothea downs the rest of her drink.

“Time to show the rest of these overstuffed nobles what dancing really looks like,” she says. They watch her stumble down the stairs. 

“Maybe they should have watered down the drinks,” Yuri says. “I don’t think most of the people here are used to Faerghus alcohol.”

“Yeah, but it’s funny,” Sylvain remarks. “I’m assuming you don’t want to dance, too?”

“Absolutely not,” Felix says. Sylvain laughs and winces, touching the purpling bruise. 

“Fair enough.” 

“Maybe you should let Mercedes look at that,” Yuri says. 

“Nah, I’m practicing personal responsibility. Eris won’t believe I’m sincere if I just erase it right away.”

“And are you?” Felix asks. “Sincere, I mean.”

“Trying to be, at least,” Sylvain says. “If you don’t want to dance, we don’t have to stick around…” 

Felix lets Sylvain lean against him. Mercedes and Yuri give each other a far too obvious look and look away. 

“We haven’t had much time to ourselves since you got here, after all.”

“I’ll tell Dimitri Sylvain got too drunk and you brought him to bed,” Mercedes says. “It’s getting late, anyway. You won’t be missed.”

“Aw, Mercie. Of course I’d be missed! I’m the life of the party!”

“I think that title goes to Ignatz, actually,” Yuri says. “Look at the little guy go.”

“Thanks, Mercedes. I’ll make sure this oaf gets back to his room safely,” Felix says. He pulls Sylvain up, and Sylvain cheerfully waves goodbye to the two of them. Felix leads him down the stairs, and as they slip out the stairs, he lets go of Sylvain wrist. Sylvain reaches out, taking him by the hand instead, twining their fingers together. 

“I forgot how overwhelming big parties can be,” Sylvain admits. “His Highness will totally understand why we didn’t stay.”

The bell tower rings out, and Felix counts each strike. Ten o’clock. The guests might finally start to dance themselves out soon, he thinks. Moonlight streams through the windows, tracing patterns on the floor. The dark bruise stands out start against Sylvain’s skin, and Felix looks away, tightening his grip on his hand.

“If you want,” Sylvain says. “You could come back to my room. For tonight.”

This must be the way it starts, for every man and woman Sylvain plays around with. Eris Nichols’ handprint is proof enough of that.

But he wants to. That feeling from last night is back, burning in his chest, drying out his throat. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he isn’t drunk, not even remotely. But it’s the only thing he can think to blame as he clears his throat and says, “That would be nice.”

Sylvain is the one to lead him now, down the hallways, and as he digs in his pocket for his key, Felix watches him. 

“I haven’t welcomed my boyfriend back properly, have I?” He says. The door shuts behind him, and Felix wraps his hands around his hips, pulling Sylvain in close. Sylvain leans down, pressing a kiss against his lips. He reaches up, thumb pressing gently against the bruise, and Sylvain winces. 

“I saw you leave with her,” Felix says, and Sylvain sucks air in through his teeth. 

“I didn’t do anything, I promise,” he says, and Felix nods. 

“I know.”

“I just… I’m trying. I’m trying to be better,” he says again, and he’s frantic, high-pitched and stumbling over his words. 

“I know.”

“I’ve spent this whole time thinking only about you.”

“Sylvain. I believe you.” Sylvain exhales. 

“Sorry, sorry. Just.. were you jealous?” 

“I was not.”

“That look on your face says otherwise.”

“Maybe I should go back to my own room,” Felix threatens, but he doesn’t move to leave. 

“You’d seriously miss out on my welcome home gift,” Sylvain says, fingers sliding under the waistband of Felix’s pants. Felix responds with another kiss, deeper this time. They pull apart, and it must be the alcohol, he tells himself. His pants are tight, and Sylvain seems to be in the same situation.

“I can stay for a while,” Felix says, and Sylvain grins. 

“Then let’s get you out of those clothes and onto the bed,” he says, and Felix goes along with it, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his pants. Sylvain shimmies out of his own clothes, crouching down to pick up the clothes Felix has strewn around the floor. 

Felix sits down onto the bed. They haven’t gone very far yet, nothing more than some kissing and groping. He swallows heavily, ignoring the fluttering in his chest. 

“So, what is this ‘gift?’” He asks. 

Sylvain laughs, carefully folding Felix’s clothes up and placing them on the foot of his bed. 

“Just lean back and relax,” he says, dropping to his knees. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

Sylvain’s breath is warm against his skin. It’s more playful than sexy, little puffs of air ticking him as he runs his lips up his inner thighs, pressing kisses into him.  _ I missed you. I love you. Welcome back.  _ Sylvain doesn’t need to speak, he can feel it in the way he moves. 

Felix isn’t fluent in that language, but he rests his hand on Sylvain’s head, letting his fingers twist into his hair. Not so he can pull or yank, but more like how he’d pet a dog. Whatever he must be saying, it must be nice, because he can feel Sylvain smile against him, the same crooked grin he’s known his whole life. 

“You like that?” Sylvain murmurs, and suddenly everything in the room has become very, very real. Too sharp, almost like the time Petra had them all try on Ignatz’s glasses. Sylvain’s face is right next to his dick, and he looks up at him through his eyelashes, and suddenly Felix feels woefully unprepared. But he wants this, so he swallows hard and nods. 

He wasn’t expecting this. Sylvain licks his lips and lowers his head to mouth at his balls. He moves upward along the shaft, agonizingly slow, and Felix squirms as he runs his tongue along his length. 

Sylvain is  _ good _ at this, he thinks. Well, he thinks he’s good at it. It’s not as if Felix has any point of comparison. He moves with the practiced experience of someone who’s done this before. He knows Sylvain has done this before, he’s seen him pull men and women alike into his room, all giggles and flirtatious. It pops into his mind, unbidden, Sylvain kneeling for someone else, his mouth on someone else’s cock. 

Sylvain yelps. He looks down, and sees his hand has clenched tight. He lets go of Sylvain’s hair, and his shoulders relax. 

“Sorry,” he says, his stomach twisting into knots. Sylvain was right, he was jealous. You’re above this, he tells himself. 

“It’s alright,” Sylvain says. “You can do that, if you like.” 

Felix doesn’t, moving his hand from his head down to the bed, twisting it into the sheets as Sylvain pushes his hair out of his face and leans forward again. 

He opens his mouth and swallows Felix completely, and this must be what dying feels like, melting into someone else. He jerks upwards, involuntarily, and Sylvain takes it in stride, bringing him deeper into his throat, further than he thought possible. 

He forces his eyes open, and meets Sylvain’s gaze as he bobs back and forth. His hand has clenched tighter into the sheets, and something nudges at his other hand. He wraps his fingers around Sylvain’s, and while his mouth is stretched around his cock, he can tell by the crinkles around his eyes that Sylvain is smiling. 

He can’t cover his moans when he speeds up, taking him deeper, faster, burying his face in Felix’s pubic hair. 

“I- I-” He gasps, but he can’t get the words out as his muscles tighten. Sylvain pulls off, and Felix vision blurs as he comes.

He shakes it off and looks down. Sylvain probes his tongue at one of the droplets of semen splattered all over his face. 

“Did you like it?” Sylvain asks, and the look on his face is… very un-Sylvain-like, Felix thinks, through the haze. He looks worried, as if somehow he was disappointing. Felix should be the one asking that, he thinks, as he slumps backwards and lies there like a dead fish. He gasps a couple of times, completely out of his depths. Sylvain snorts. “So that’s a yes, I’ll take it.”

Felix makes a vague gesture with his hands, which makes Sylvain laugh even more. He roots around for a handkerchief, wiping the rest of Felix’s mess of his face. 

“Alright, my turn.” Felix announces, and Sylvain looks at him in surprise. 

“Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says. Felix stares pointedly at Sylvain’s crotch. “I was just going to take care of that myself.”

“On the bed,” Felix says, and Sylvain sits down. He slides down onto the floor, examining Sylvain’s erection like it’s some strange animal. He’s never done this before, but he’s not about to give up. He’s going to make him feel good.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sylvain says, and Felix takes the opportunity to shut him. He leans forward and licks cautiously at his, and from the way he inhales, it must feel good. It can’t be that hard, he reasons, and opens his mouth to take him in. 

The tip of Sylvain’s dick hits the back of his throat and he gags. Sylvain pushes him off, panting. 

“Felix, it’s fine,” he says. “We can start slow.”

His cheeks flush, and Felix growls, deep in his throat. Sylvain is right, he thinks, annoyance creeping into his mental voice. He wouldn’t give a beginner the most advanced sword techniques to learn, and dimly he knows this isn’t any different. It still stings though. He climbs up into Sylvain’s lap, and Sylvain falls backward across the bed, his eyes widening as Felix wraps a hand around his cock. 

“At least let me do this,” he says, and Sylvain covers his mouth with a fist as Felix strokes him. “You like that?”

Sylvain nods, gasping into his hand, and Felix speeds up. Sylvain’s face flushes, his eyes shut, and he squirms under Felix’s touch. He can do this, at least, and pride blossoms in his chest with each little moan. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It’s fine. You don’t have to be jealous, not anymore. Right now, you’re the one who gets to see him like this. 

Sylvain shudders, and Felix rolls off of him, hand sticky with come. 

“That was nice,” Sylvain gasps. “Don’t you dare wipe that on my sheets.”

“You’re seriously worried about your sheets?” Felix asks, stumbling over to his clothes to grab a handkerchief of his own.

“We have to sleep on them, after all.”

“Neat freak.”

“Aw, you love me.” 

Felix lies back down next to him, listening to Sylvain’s breathing slow. 

“Are you going to go back to your room?” Sylvain asks, and Felix throws an arm around him.

“Too tired.” Sylvain pulls the blanket around them, and smiles back at him. 

“You know, you can just say you want to stay,” he jokes. He doesn’t argue with him, but he gives Sylvain a faint smile in return. 

He watches Sylvain drift off, and pushes the covers off. It’s hot, their two bodies next to each other. His mind won’t stop working. He isn’t used to it. He’s not used to a lot of things, he’s come to realize. 

He’s not going to fall behind, he tells himself. If Annette says he has to learn to fight without a sword, he’ll keep fighting until he’s the best at it. Any embarrassment from tonight is gone, it has to be, if he’s going to get better. 

He shakes his head. He can’t get the image of Sylvain gasping beneath him out of his brain. It feels good, seeing him like that, even if he failed before it. He needs to get better at that too. 

He has a lot of catching up to do. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Not much to say this time, just I hope you all enjoy! I'll be trying to pick up the pace a little bit, since it's finally all plotted out.

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 19 _

There’s a draft on his side, and Felix pushes hair out of his face. He groans as light hits his eyes, and Sylvain laughs, quietly. 

“Hey, go back to bed, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Where are you going?” He asks. “What time is it?”

“Breakfast with Mercedes,” Sylvain says, pulling on his jacket. “We do this every week. And it’s only eight, get some more sleep. Do you have a hangover?”

“I didn’t drink that much,” Felix says. 

He considers himself to be someone with good discipline. Even so, he still hesitates before putting his feet on the floor. The rug blocks at least some of the cold stone, but waking up during winter has never been pleasant. 

The sun is already peeking over the mountains, which means he’s slept in too late. He’s used to waking up before dawn to get extra training in. A mug of hot tea while the sun rises is the ideal way to start the day, but he hasn’t done it since he’s arrived. Not that he’s been here long enough to start a routine, he reminds himself. 

“I’ll be back later,” Sylvain is saying, while Felix is mentally preparing to face the cold air. “I think if you hurry you’ll be able to catch Petra as she leaves.”

“Not going to say goodbye?” Felix asks, hissing as the chill hits his bare skin. 

“I said my farewells earlier this morning,” Sylvain says. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to see them longer, but honestly. Petra deserves to get back home to some decent weather.”

Sylvain starts toward the door, and then doubles back.

“Almost forgot!” He presses a kiss against Felix’s cheek. “Have a great day! I’ll see you later.”

Discipline, Felix reminds himself. No one to impress today, so he pulls on whatever is warmest and heads to the kitchen like a man possessed. 

“Let me get this straight,” Ignatz is saying. “You want me to drink a raw egg.”

“There’s other things in it,” Ingrid says. “Look, it’ll help!”

“Stop trying to feed him some weird concoction,” Dedue says. “Ignatz, drink some more water.”

Ignatz stares at his glass. “I want to die.”

“But you were having so much fun last night!” Dorothea says. “Come on, you’ll be fine!"

“That,” he says. “Is exactly the problem. I don’t remember any of it. What if I started an international incident?”

“Everyone loves you,” Petra reminds him. “They are all so pleased to be travelling with you again, and everyone wants to be the first one to host you during your stay. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

“But I can’t remember anything! What if someone makes some reference to something? I can’t even remember who I talked to last night!”

“Well, you’ll just have to deal with it as it comes up,” Dorothea says, sagely. Ignatz gestures at Ingrid. 

“Ingrid, give me the egg.”

Felix fills up his flask with hot tea. Ingrid doesn’t even look at him as she tosses him a sausage roll, and Felix catches it, equally transfixed as Ignatz chugs a glass of raw egg. 

“That is horrifying,” Ignatz whispers. “But I think I’m too focused on the slime to notice my headache anymore, so I’ll take it.”

“Excellent!” Petra says. “Let’s ride, shall we?”

It takes them longer than expected to get to the stables. Their little procession stops and starts, as Petra chats with everyone who has managed to get up early enough to see her off. 

_ Politics is a game _ , he reminds himself, as Petra trades fond farewells with the head of the Weaver’s Guild and accepts one last token from a minor Alliance lord.  _ Study it. Learn it.  _ Petra is a natural at it, likely honed from an entire life of carefully watching and planning. 

The stables aren’t empty, which is a surprise this early in the morning. A petite blue figure, wrapped in scarves and furs awaits them. Marianne greets them with a smile, and Felix makes a note to tell Sylvain how much she’s improved. He’d forgotten she was here, truth be told, and he pushes down a pang of guilt. He really has been terrible at keeping track of his classmates. 

“ I’m sorry… the party last night was too much for me. But I wanted to see you off,” she says. 

“Marianne, we would love your company!” Petra says, and Marianne smiles again. “Do not worry about the party, I found it a little overwhelming as well.”

“Not as overwhelming as Ignatz over here,” Dorothea says, and Ignatz, too green around the gills to notice her jab, takes a whiff of horse manure and gags. 

“Is Dimitri joining us?” Felix asks. 

“He speaks,” Ingrid remarks. “Looks like Ignatz wasn’t the only one who had a wild night.”

“I am joining you,” Dimitri calls, rounding the corner, Annette trotting at his side. “Sorry I’m late. I was having breakfast with Count Rowe.”

It’s weirdly familiar, their quick movements in the early morning. Quietly and efficiently getting horses ready to ride. They’d done this countless times over the course of the war, and Felix isn’t the only one who finds himself looking back over his shoulder, watching for Imperial troops. 

“We’ll ride with you as far as the city limits, is that all right?” Dimitri asks, and Petra nods. They form a caravan, a parade of Faerghus and Brigid colors alike. It feels different than war, though. Instead of a wagon full of soldiers and weapons, he trots next to one filled with Brigid traders and goods from all over Fodlan, and children run alongside them, trying to grab a glimpse of the foreign princess. Their mothers watch from their front doors, smiles on their faces. 

Last time he was here, the scars of Imperial occupation still ran deep. Parents would grab their children and hustle them inside at any sound of hoofbeats. He doesn’t want to know what that sound heralded under Cornelia. 

“I will miss snow,” Petra says suddenly, as they approach the Southern Gate. “The aesthetic, at least.”

Dimitri pulls his horse up alongside her, and they watch as the drawbridge slowly creaks it’s way down. 

“Do not forget to write,” she says. “And before I forget, don’t open this until tomorrow.”

She pulls a small package out of her saddlebag and hands it to him. 

“Happy Birthday!” She says. “Dorothea and I picked it out, together.”

“Petra, thank you,” Dimitri murmurs. “For everything. I am… I am grateful you are my friend. And I am truly sorry it took so long for this to happen.”

Petra smiles back at him, and reaches over and squeezes his hand. 

“It was being my pleasure,” she says. “It is a shame our time here was so short.”

“Please, don’t wait around to spare my feelings,” Dimitri replies. “The road will be long, and daylight is short this time of year.”

Petra twists around in her saddle to wave back at them all. 

“Happy High Holidays!” She shouts. “To Brigid!”

A patriotic yell rises up from her party, and they watch as Petra and her entourage get smaller, and smaller, until they disappear from view.

Felix turns his horse around. Since the war started, he’s gotten used to watching people leave. It’s more surprising to see them return, nowadays. 

“No, please. This way,” Ashe whispers, struggling a bit with his horse. 

“Still uncomfortable with horses, I see,” Ingrid says. “Ease up on the reins a little. She can tell you’re nervous.”

“I don’t get how you can be so bad with riding,” Felix says. “You ride wyverns.”

Ashe doesn’t look up at his comment. He’s seen Ashe flip off a wyvern’s back, and snipe a man from upside down, but it takes his full concentration is on making a horse go in a straight line. 

“Horses,” Ashe responds, his voice flat and wretched. “Are a completely different animal altogether.”

Felix stares at him, incredulous. “Yes,  _ obviously _ .”

“What are you two planning on doing today?” Ingrid asks. “It looks like His Majesty is booked, but we have some free time instead.”

Felix sneaks a glance and Dimitri, who is consulting with Annette over a thick tome as they ride. He could lie to her. Or he could not. 

“Library,” Felix admits. “I need to do some research on some Fraldarius territory records. Some of ours were damaged during the siege three years ago.”

It’s truthful enough. Ashe’s eyes brighten, and he practically bounces in excitement. That or he’s wobbling as his horse veers wildly off course. 

“Oh, I’ll come with you! I’ve never seen the Royal Library before, and I have to do some studying myself!”

“Personal project?” Ingrid inquires, and Ashe grimaces. 

“Nothing so fun. Gaspard territory is reverting to me as part of my peerage. I have no idea where to start. Lonato was training me to take over after Christophe passed away but… well, nothing concrete. After he died I’d thought that ship had sailed for good.”

“You’ll be a good leader, Ashe,” Dimitri says, slowing his horse until he’s riding beside them. “Believe me, we all have doubts. And if you need any help, we’ll always be here.”

“That doesn’t relieve any of the pressure,” Ashe says, slumping forward into his saddle. Dimitri laughs and claps him on the back. “But thank you.”

Ashe used to be a tightly wound spring around Dimitri, so anxious he seemed like he’d snap at the slightest friendly touch or casual conversation. It pricks at him- when did they become so friendly? It’s one more thing on top of the hundred other things he’s missed. At least Ashe still isn’t comfortable calling him by name. That would be a sign of the sky falling. 

* * *

They used to play in the Royal Library, playing hide and seek between the books. Once, when he was young,he’d gotten lost amid the stacks. Sylvain had been the one to find him, claiming he’d tracked him down by the sound of him wailing. 

He grimaces at the thought. He can’t let Sylvain know he remembers that. The library is smaller than he recalls, and he’s amazed that it’s still in perfect condition. Edelgard didn’t seem like the type of person who’d destroy books, the opposite, really, but Cornelia? Well, she was a holy woman and a scholar. Despite her disdain for the rest of Faerghus and its people, at least she didn’t burn any of the numerous, painstaking records of wheat growth in Western Faerghus. Only people, apparently. 

Ashe gingerly places a stack of books on the table, and Felix pretends he doesn’t jump at the sound. He cranes his neck, reading out the titles. 

“ _ A Treatise on Crime and Punishment, Moral Governance, On the Burden of Duty _ … Goddess, Ashe. Maybe start with something manageable?”

Ashe looks despairingly at the thick tomes, and Felix recalls that despite his love of reading, Ashe was never the most studious in their class. 

“Like what?”

“A census of Gaspard territory is a good place to start. Get an idea of it’s finances.”

His uncle had practically locked him in the study when he’d returned to Fraldarius, and he hadn’t been let out until he could recite the total harvest yields of the past ten years. Ashe blinks at him. 

“Right. I have a basic idea about that, I talk with the citizens of Gaspard all the time. But it can’t hurt to go more in depth.” He sighs. “Really, It’s the political theory I don’t know.”

You’re going to burst a blood vessel stressing out like that,” Felix says. Ashe raises his eyebrows. 

“Says the man reading  _ Deliberations on Etiquette and Chivalry. _ ” Felix snaps the book shut and practically tosses it onto the table. Ashe clucks his tongue at the rough treatment

“Okay, fine. You got me. I bet Dimitri has practically memorized this entire library,” Felix grumbles. Ashe surveys the shelves. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he admits. “He’s deceptively studious, and actually very well read.”

Felix buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t expected Ashe would be here today, but he might as well ask. He very well can’t ask Annette, and he’d rather leap naked into the river during midwinter than ask Dimitri. 

“Speaking of well read,” Felix asks between gritted teeth. “I need a recommendation.”

“Really?” Ashe’s voice squeaks up an octave. “Wow, I can’t believe you’re actually asking me for a book to read! It took so much pestering back in school-”

“I don’t want one of your chivalrous tales of daring deeds,” Felix says. “I need…”

He’s doing this, and he hates himself. His ears are burning hotter than the sands of the Sreng Desert. 

“I need something a bit....” He ponders his word choice, and then just goes for. “Risque.”

“ _ Ah _ .” Ashe breathes, and he sounds amused. He considers making a mad dash for the door. “Um. I definitely have some suggestions on that front, if I catch your drift. Hapi rather likes  _ The Beggar and The Fisherman _ .”

“Just because we’re on the topic of studying,” Felix says, digging himself in deeper. 

“Oh well in that case, definitely not that one. It’s certainly embellished on that front, completely unrealistic,” Ashe says, his voice getting fast and higher pitched. Felix doesn’t want to think about the fact that Ashe apparently can judge that. 

“It’s not like I don’t know anything,” Felix says, trying not to sound completely pathetic, and not entirely sure he’s working. “As with training one needs to-” He wracks his brain. “Strive for improvement on every front.”

“Well, I’m not sure how useful a book will be on that front,” Ashe says. “But I’d say Adrestian epic poetry is probably your best bet.  _ Journey to Morfis _ would be my recommendation. Lord von Ravinius slept his way through the entire trade route.”

“Thank you.”

“I think they have a copy in the Royal Library. It’s actually quite good-”

“Thank you.” Felix repeats, desperation creeping into his voice.

“It’s a highly satirical work criticizing the Adrestian upper classes’ view on sexuality-”

“Ashe.”

“Actually,” Ashe is babbling right now, cheeks growing redder and redder, but his embarrassment is overshadowed by his love of obscure literary fact. He barrels onward like a spooked horse, which Felix’s burnt out brain delightfully labels irony. “Emperor Edelgard was the one who recommended it to me back at the Officer’s Academy. She was a big fan of political satire, which never was my cup of tea but-”

“ _ Ashe, _ ” Felix pleads. Ashe stops, clears his throat, and picks up another heavy volume, something about ethical taxation. “That was very helpful, thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Ashe says emphatically. “You helped me a lot already with today’s research.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Felix says. Ashe just blinks rapidly at him. 

“Why would I tell anyone?” He asks. “Honestly I’m just glad to see you interested in reading, whatever your motives may be.”

“You can forget about this conversation now,” Felix grumbles, diving into his own stack of research. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to,” Ashe mutters under his breath, and he buries his nose in a book.

* * *

The bells ring out over Fhirdiad, and Ashe has fallen asleep. Felix is close to doing the same, when his vision goes dark. 

“Boo!” 

Ashe bolts awake, tipping his chair over. Annette cackles. 

“It looks like you had a productive day,” she says. “But let’s get out of the castle, get some fresh air!”

Felix thrusts the books aside. Ashe picks himself up off the ground. 

“What were you thinking?” He asks, brushing dirt off his coat. 

“Well,” she says, stretching the word into two syllables. “I don’t know if either of you have gotten Dimitri a birthday gift yet.” Ashe freezes, and dread creeps up Felix’s back. Their blank stares are enough, and she laughs. “A whole bunch of us are going to the night market tonight! You should come, it’ll be fun!”

“He’s the king, what on earth are you supposed to get him at a night market that he can’t just buy himself?” Felix asks, incredulous. 

“It’s the thought that counts, Felix,” Ashe reminds him, and Felix finds himself sitting on the back of the cook’s cart, headed across the castle drawbridge. Their feet dangle over the cobblestones as they ride. There’s no procession, or coats of arms, or fancy horses. As they hop off the back of the cart and wave their thanks to the cook, Felix thinks they must look no different from any other Fhirdiad citizen. 

“Oh, you made it!” Mercedes trills. Sylvain leans over her shoulder, and he really hasn’t seen him all day. He’s used to not seeing Sylvain for months, but suddenly he doesn’t want to be away from him for even another minute. “Come on, everyone’s waiting in the town square.”

The street lamps glimmer with magical fire, and Ingrid bounces up and down waving at them. 

“Sorry, were you waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Dedue say. “Just long enough for Ingrid to do some reconnaissance.”

“I’ve never been to a night market before,” Marianne says, and Annette grabs her by the hand. 

“Ooh, it’s so fun! It gets dark so early in the winter, so it’s not like any work can get done! There’s food, and shops, and music!”

“And then everyone gets frostbite and goes home,” Felix adds, and Annette glares at him, but Marianne lets out a soft chuckle.

“It sounds fun,” she says. 

“What shall we do first?” Ingrid asks, and if on cue, a low growl echoes around them. Dedue sheepishly hides behind his scarf. 

“I was so busy with meetings today I didn’t eat,” he confesses. 

“Well it’s settled then!” Sylvain says, draping an arm around Dedue’s shoulder. “Let’s get some food in this man!”

Ingrid leads them all on a tour of the marketplace. Their breath clouds around them as they mingle with the crowd, peering into booths. It’s an entirely different crowd from last night- people clutch mugs of mulled wine and spiced cider in their mittened hands and snuggled closer to their loved ones. Children hurl snowballs at each other and duck in between the stalls. 

He never went to night markets with his father, but Glenn did take him a few times as a kid. He’d always buy Felix a treat, and they’d wander around the market, clinging tight to each other, just in case. He always liked to see what weapons the merchants brought for sale. Perhaps that’s why, hot drink in hand, he’s found himself drifting over by the blacksmith’s stall. 

Felix shakes his head and pushes those thoughts aside. It was stupid of him to avoid markets after Glenn died. After all, it’s not as if he can be jealous, anymore. Something twists inside him, and clenches his fist.  _ Stupid _ , he thinks.  _ You have a mission. Stop reminiscing about pointless things. _

He bends down to examine a particularly ornate dagger and sheath, before grimacing. He wouldn’t win any awards for “most sensitive,” he’ll freely admit that, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that a dagger wouldn’t be the best gift to give. 

“Here you go, one grilled bear skewer,” Sylvain announces. Felix accepts it and tears into it. There’s something about food on sticks that just makes it better. “Haven’t decided yet?”

He swallows a hunk of meat and shakes his head. “No, you? I have no idea what he even wants.”

“Yeah, I got him something weeks ago. Probably not a weapon,” Sylvain says.

“Probably not,” he acquiesces. They move onto the next stall. Marianne crouches there, not noticing or not caring that her skirts are dragging along the ground. Sylvain squats down next to her. 

“Ooh, that’s pretty!” She blushes. 

“He’s mentioned he’s been taking long rides to relax recently, so I thought this saddle blanket might be nice,” she says. Felix takes a closer look. It is nice. Griffons dance along the hem, carefully woven into the fabric.

“You’ve got a good eye,” the merchant remarks. “It’s a traditional weaving pattern from eastern Faerghus.” 

“How much is it?” She asks, and the merchant winks at her. 

“For you, pretty lady? Fifty gold.” She weighs the cost in her head, and pulls out her purse. Felix turns away and fervently examines his goods. There needs to be something here Dimitri would like. 

Food is out- Dimitri will eat anything, and never comments on flavor. Tea is nice, but that’s the exact same problem. He always comments on smells- Felix stands bolt upright, and tugs Sylvain away. 

“Hey, I was still browsing!” He protests. Felix ignores him and scans the marketplace. Ingrid and Ashe are enjoying some cheese fondue over by the light post, and Annette is haggling with someone over some leather bound journals. Dedue is chatting with a Duscur craftsman while Mercedes practices the language. He scans over booksellers, and cooks, jewelry makers and blacksmiths until he finally settles on what he wants. 

“Ooh, good idea!” Sylvain says as Felix’s plan dawns on him. “I think he’d really like that.”

He tries to hold back his smugness as he hands his coin over and watches the merchant wrap up his purchase. 

“Ugh, it is getting really cold,” Sylvain complains, stomping his feet back and forth. “Hey, lets see if everyone wants to hit up a pub on the way back!”

“Didn’t you drink enough last night?” Felix asks, accepting the parcel. 

“Probably,” he says. 

“I don’t want to dig your drunken body out of a snowbank,” Felix says. “If you’re that cold, let me buy you a drink.”

Four copper coins lighter and he has two mugs of spiced hot cider. Sylvain gratefully accepts it, and he clears some snow off a short stone wall for them to sit on while they wait. 

“For someone from the farthest north, you sure complain about the cold,” he says. Sylvain laughs. 

“Just because I’m good with the cold doesn’t mean I like it,” he says. He takes a sip of cider. “Wow, look at the stars tonight! Not a cloud in the sky.”

Felix looks up, but not at the stars. Sylvain is transfixed, and something is his chest swells. The streetlights gild his profile, face flushed from the cold. His breath curls around his slightly open mouth, as his eyes gaze up at the sky. He rests his head on Sylvain’s shoulder, and Sylvain jerks a little in surprise. 

Around them, the crowd bustles and laughs, but no one notices them- they’re too busy enjoying themselves. It’s cold, and the tips of his ears are starting to burn, but he wants this moment to last forever. 

* * *

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 20 _

  
  


For all the rich, important people who have been following Dimitri around for the past few days, Felix notes, not one of them has joined them today. 

St. Cethleann’s House is nestled snug against the southern wall of Fhirdiad. It stands out amongst the crumbled houses that surround it. The back of his neck prickles. Eyes, watchful and wary, follow them as they ride down the street. 

It’s a far cry from the fun and whimsy of the last few nights. 

He’s never been to the slums of Fhirdiad before. But Dimitri makes a trip here, every week, to give something back to the people who sheltered him when he had nowhere else to go. 

Sister Agnes is tall, thin, and surprisingly muscular. Her hands and face are chapped from the cold, and her habit gives her an air of authority as she barks orders at the soldiers unloading supplies. 

“It’s good to see you again, my dear,” she says, clutching Dimitri by the forearms. He laughs. 

“We’ll do whatever you need from us, Sister,” he says, and she squeezes him a little tighter. 

“Lots of frostbite, winter sickness. Some chronic injuries from the war. Anyone with healing magic will be much appreciated,” she directs. “Oh Dedue, would you take a look at our medicine stocks? Some of it will have expired, and we need to create some new batches. The salves you worked on last time were excellent, if you don’t mind doing that again.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he says, then gestures to Ashe. “My friend here is also quite skilled at herbal medicines, so we’ll do our best.”

“Ingrid, would you mind helping us organize our bandage stores? Let me know what you can salvage and what can be thrown away.”

“Of course,” Ingrid says. “Whatever you need me to do, I’m game.”

“Thank you, all of you,” she says. 

The clinic is clean, and the air smells like herbs and faith magic. It’s electric, and his eyes start to water at the scent. Everyone else already seems to know what to do. Mercedes, Marianne, Sylvain and Annette move quickly and efficiently, magic glowing at their fingertips. 

“Felix, why don’t you stick with me? I could use your help with spells,” Dimitri suggests, and Felix nods curtly in response. Dimitri pulls his hair back into a ponytail, and casually sits down at the bedside of a young boy. His mother’s eyes flash in recognition, and she gasps slightly as Dimitri smiles at her.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asks. The mother opens and shuts her mouth a couple of times, looking overwhelmed. 

“Your Majesty, I…” she blurts out, then covers her mouth. 

“Ah, please don’t worry about formality,” he says. “Today I am just a healer.”

“I’m fine, Ma,” the kid complains. “It’s okay, we can leave, it don’t hurt that bad.”

“Quiet, that’s the king,” she hisses out of the corner of her mouth. “It’s his foot, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri scoots his stool around to the foot of the bed, and lifts up the blanket. Felix winces, internally. The wound is small, at least at first glance. Something has punctured the skin, and the edges of the wound have turned black. Dimitri gestures him closer, and Felix moves beside him to take a look. 

“Looks like you stepped on a nail,” Felix remarks. “Infected, most likely.”

“It shouldn’t take long to heal,” Dimitri promises. “But you’ll be pretty tired afterwards.”

Dimitri has gotten better at white magic since their time on the battlefield, but his control for fine details is still lacking. Felix focuses on purging out the infection, probing his magic into the flesh and veins around the wound. The clumsy touch of Dimitri’s magic barges in, sinking into the tissue around it. 

He knits his brow together in concentration. Dimitri, on the other hand, relaxes. His posture opens up, and he leans in, to whisper almost conspiratorially at the boy. 

“So, what’s your name?”

The boy eyes him suspiciously. “Matt,” he offers, lips clamming shut again.

“So, Matt. What were you doing when you hurt yourself?”

Felix’s power slips out, and he wrestles it back into control. Dimitri doesn’t sound like Dimitri. His words slur and lilt, slipping into an accent he’s never heard him use before. 

“Playin’,” the boy says. 

“If you were playin’ why’d ya hide it?” Dimitri’s speech is loosening, but his magic sharpens, spinning itself into a needle and it starts to knit the flesh back together, one stitch at a time. Felix stares at him. Dimitri is so casual, one would hardly realize he’s exerting himself at all. 

“Ya don’t talk like a king,” Matt accuses, and Dimitri laughs. 

“How’d you think kings talk?”

He shrugs. “All posh like.”

“I do a lot of unkingly things. My advisors don’t much like it,” Dimitri says. “So where’d ya hurt yourself?”

The boy stares up at the ceiling, and sighs. 

“Potter’s dump.” 

His mother inhales, and Felix can tell from that breath alone that the boy will be in serious trouble when he gets home. 

“Found a lot of good meals there myself,” Dimitri says. 

“Why’d a king scavenge in Potter’s dump?” Matt asks, face skeptical. 

“Imperial soldiers dumped a lot of refuse in there,” Dimitri mentions, as casual as if he were describing the weather. “You jumped the south gate, yeah? You and your friends? That’s where you landed on the nail?”

“Y-yeah.”

“You know there’s a loose board by the sluice gate, right? You can slip in through the fence boards over there,” Dimitri says, mildly. He meets the mother’s eyes and sheepishly backtracks. “Not that I’m suggesting you do. If you’re hungry we deliver rations here every week. Should be plenty to fill your belly.”

The boy’s eyes are practically bugging out of his skull. “The sluice gate, you say?”

“I will tan your hide if you so much as  _ think  _ about it,” his mother hisses. 

“It’s a pretty dangerous place,” Dimitri says, his magic tying itself in a little knot. There’s a reason why Dimitri has never been good at black magic, all theory and formulas. White magic lends itself much more to feelings. Felix blazes, burning the last of the infection out of his veins. “I always found Argent Field to be a much safer place to pick up a meal. Lots of wild plants grow there. You can snare rabbits, too.”

“I don’t know much about plants,” Matt admits. He flexes his foot, admiring the shiny, clean scar. 

“Tell you what,” Dimitri says. “I’ve got some good friends helping out downstairs making medicine downstairs who could use an extra hand. We always come by this time of week, so if you have free time, they can teach you a thing or too. If it’s alright with your ma.”

The mother thanks Dimitri profusely, but he just bows his head and stands. 

“Onto our next patient,” he announces, moving over to the next bed. Watching Dimitri work is incredible, Felix admits, only a little begrudgingly. He chats with every patient, not as a king, or a commander, or as a boar. It’s a side of Dimitri he’s never seen before, one who knows slang and reminiscences about miserable winters in ramshackle lean-tos and empty bellies. 

It’s not a side of Dimitri that he knows, one that he’s examined and labeled and mounted with pins under glass, a specimen to study. It’s just another piece of Dimitri, slotted into the puzzle of what is real and what is not. 

“It’s all real,” Dimitri had said, and he believes him. There is no way he can look at him, sharing jokes with an old man as he knits together a broken hip, and think it can’t be. 

His hands are shaking, and he rocks back onto his heels. His head is spinning, and a strong arm lifts him up. 

“Let’s get some water,” Dimitri says, and he wants to protest. He can still do more. He can’t even remember how many people he’s healed today, but the row of beds seem to extend on further and further. The others don’t even look tired; Sylvain, Mercedes, and Marianne weave together a physic that leaves the air crackling, and they aren’t even breaking a sweat. 

“There’s still more people,” he gasps out, and Dimitri sighs. He looks tired for the first time that day. 

“There will always be more people,” he says. “Come on. A short break will do us both well.”

He stumbles down the hall into the kitchen, and Dimitri collapses into a chair beside him. 

“Five minutes,” he says. “I’m not sure how much more juice I have left in me.”

“-I have your prescription through here,” Sister Agnes says, opening the door. “Oh, Your Majesty! Here you are!”

“I’m sorry, I was just resting for a moment,” he says, but she waves him off. 

“Take the time you need, you’ll be no help at all if you use up all your magic and pass out in the clinic.”

The woman she’s with pokes her head in after her, and a smile brightens her face. 

“Di! It’s been so long!” She rushes over and squishes his face in her hands. “Oh look at you, you’ve put on weight! You look so healthy now!”

“Not enough,” Sister Agnes calls, rummaging around in the cabinets. “I don’t know what they’re feeding you up in the castle, but it’s not good enough. Trust me, I’ve fattened up more than a few starving kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” Dimitri calls back, amusement creeping into his voice. “The physicians say I’m healthy. It’s great to see you too, Reese.”

“How old are you? Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-four, today, exactly,” Dimtri says. The woman, Reese, rolls her eyes.

“Like I said, you’re a baby.” She gestures at Felix. “Who is this? Another weird noble friend of yours?”

“I like this woman,” Felix says, and she laughs. 

“This is Felix. Duke Fraldarius, if we want to get into titles,” Dimitri says. “Felix, this is Reese. She and the rest of the girls sheltered me during the winter of 1183.”

Felix winces. “That was a bitter year,” he says. 

“Good business for us,” Reese says. “The colder it is, the more people want a warm body to sleep with. Dimitri, er, Your Greatness? What do you call him?”

“My name is perfectly fine,” Dimitri says. 

“Dimitri helped us out with some Imperials who were bothering us. There hasn’t been a single client who’s messed with one of us since you gave that man a right beating.”

Sister Agnes hands her a packet of herbs, and Felix recognizes the label. Herbs that induce sterility in the user. Sylvain always had them in his room, just in case. 

“I can just imagine what everyone would think if they found out you were the king,” she remarks. 

“Well,” a voice from the hallways says. Yuri leans up against the door frame. “I’d say about half of your detractors would be just thrilled the learn that the King of Faerghus spent the war cavorting with prostitutes.”

Reese snorts with laughter. 

“And the other half?” Dimitri says, standing up and offering.

“The other half will probably think you  _ were _ a prostitute,” Yuri remarks, taking the offered seat.

“I’ve been called far worse,” Dimitri says. “I’m not too worried about what they say about me. My actions speak for themselves. For better or for worse.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Yuri says, rummaging in his jacket. “One letter from Hapi. She says she’ll be back next week, and wishes you a happy birthday. I have a little gift for you myself, but that’ll have to wait until we get back to the palace.”

Dimitri accepts the letter. His back pops and he groans a little as he stretches. 

“Alright, break is over,” He says. “The rest of you can still rest, if need be. Reese, lovely to see you again, tell the girls hi from me.”

“You should come visit sometime,” she says. “You’d probably get mobbed. Everyone south of Kernel Street considers you one of us, you know.”

“I know,” Dimitri says. “I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Felix’s knees creak as he gets to his feet. If Dimitri can still work, so can he. Yuri joins them, and they get back to it. 

He’s used to blood and gore from his time on the battlefield. Dimly, he thinks that’s sort of awful. He’s more comfortable dressing wounds and cleaning vomit than he is doing paperwork. Despite their tired faces, the set of everyone’s shoulders are much more relaxed here than anywhere else. There’s comfort in that, at least. He’s not the only one who hasn’t fully adjusted to peace yet. 

Someone taps him on the shoulder, breaking his concentration. 

“Hey, it’s late. We’re leaving,” Sylvain says, and Felix does a double take. The sun is setting, and he doesn’t remember the light growing dimmer. Sylvain looks exhausted, supporting a Mercedes that looks completely dead on her feet. He reaches out and takes Mercedes’ other arm, and she murmurs a quiet thanks. 

He allows Sister Agnes to hug him as they leave. Ingrid laughs when she sees his face, but he doesn’t fight her. This place is important to Dimitri, and he’s not going to ruin it. 

“How do you do it?” Felix asks, and Dimitri makes a questioning grunt in response. He’s amazed any of them are still upright. “Stay on for so long.”

“Oh, that,” Dimitri says, wiping sweat out of his eye. “It is easier here than anywhere else, truthfully. I am comfortable down here. It was my home, after all.”

He sighs. 

“It’s just not enough,” Dimitri says, and a growl of frustration creeps into his voice. Sweat drips down his spine, and Felix’s skin crawls. He hates hearing that sound come out of Dimitri’s mouth. “I can spend a whole day talking to people and fixing their problems, and there will always be more of them.”

“That is true,” Dedue says. “You could spend your whole life talking to everyone in Fodlan and never manage to get through everyone.”

“There’s got to be a better way,” Sylvain muses, urging his horse closer to Felix’s. 

“Even now the Empire and Alliance territories have their own problems that I had no idea existed. Ferdinand and Lorenz have been helping me but still... “ Dimitri sighs. “Perhaps I need to do some more research.”

“Not tonight, you aren’t,” Annette announces, and Dimitri blinks in surprise. She feigns innocence. “Did I forget to tell you? There’s a very important meeting in the drawing room tonight. You can’t miss it.”

Dimitri is frozen like a deer in a hunter’s sight, and Felix can see the wheels turning in his head as he desperately tries to remember what he’s forgotten. He slumps forward, exhaling heavily. 

“Of course, right. My birthday. I had completely forgotten. Annette, please don’t scare me like that again.”

* * *

The palace rooms that had been so cold this morning feel sweltering in comparison. They jockey for position around the fire, letting the warmth seep into their hands. 

“Hot tea, hot tea coming through,” Annette sings, and they crowd into the drawing room, passing tea cups around. 

“Alright, birthday boy,” Sylvain says. “Pick a present, any present. And if any of us hear anything like-” Sylvain forces his voice into a poor facsimile of Dimtri’s angry growls. “‘-Oh, I do not deserve such kindness, I am a wretched creature-’”

“”Sylvain,” Dimitri protests.

“‘Woe is me, I do not deserve to even celebrate my own birthday,’ then I’ll, uh.”

“You didn’t think of a good enough threat, did you,” Dedue deadpans. Sylvain grins sheepishly. 

“Then we’ll all leave and you’ll have to eat your entire cake by yourself.”

“Oh no, what a horrible punishment,” Ingrid says. 

“Alright, alright,” Dimitri laughs. “I accept all the presents. I suppose I’ll start with this one?”

Ferdinand has given him tea. Lorenz has also given him tea. Dimitri gently stacks the boxes to the side, before opening a small package from Bernadetta. Annette lets out a little gasp at the tiny hedgehog shaped pincushion. 

“It’s adorable,” she breathes. “I want one so badly.”

“You should commission her,” Sylvain says. “She’s really talented.”

Caspar and Linhardt have sent a single note. Caspar probably forgot, Felix guesses, but Lindhardt just didn’t bother to tell him. Dimitri’s shoulders shake with laughter as he reads Caspar messy writing. 

Petra and Dorothea’’s package from this morning is a quiver, and Felix suddenly understands how Annette felt about the pincushion. It’s gorgeous, dyed in bright patterns and decorated with beads made of shells from Brigid’s shores. Dorothea has scribbled a quick doodle of both of them on the note. 

Ignatz has left behind a painting of their class, and Leonie a hand carved hair clip, to keep it out of his eyes for training. Raphael has sent a clumsy letter asking Dimitri to stay at their inn.  _ I want to train with you again! _ He writes, and Dimitri smiles.

Hilda’s letter is less heartfelt, full of complaints about how much work he’s left her with for the Alliance. (“We all know Lorenz is doing all the work, though,” Yuri says.) Even so, she attaches an elaborate and stylish cloak pin along with it. 

“Who’s next? I think that’s all that’s left is us,” Ingrid says. No one volunteers, so she selects her own gift from the pile. “Happy birthday, Your Majesty.”

“Ingrid, you didn’t have to give me anything,” he says. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

“Well, it isn’t much. You’re a hard man to shop for!” Her face flushes in embarrassment. 

She’s gotten him a glove, for falconry. His eyes light up when he unwraps it, turning it this way and that.

“I just remembered how when we were little we were so excited to learn how to use them, and then… everything happened and we just… never did…” Her voice trails off, and Dimitri leans over and pulls her into a quick hug.

“I love it,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You’re flattering me,” she says. “Oh look, here’s a gift from Dedue.”

“It’s nothing much,” Dedue says, as Dimitri unwraps a beautiful scarf, woven with Duscur patterns. 

“And here you were lecturing me about not accepting kindness,” Dimitri says. “It’s lovely.” He wraps it around his neck. “And very warm.”

“Constance helped me with my gift,” Mercedes announces, handing him hers. He gingerly accepts the new embroidery frame and thread. “The thread is especially good at holding spells and charms. And it should be much sturdier than what you’re used to.”

“I’ll be as careful as possible with it,” he promises, holding it as if it were made of eggshells.

Dimitri loves Marianne’s gift, and she blushes bright red. The two of them trip over their sentences, and it’s actually painful to watch, Felix decides. But it is nice, he begrudgingly admits, to see the two of them talking naturally to each other. Marianne has really blossomed from the girl she was at school.

Annette has given him sweets from a popular bakery. 

“They look far too good to eat,” Dimitri says.

“I spent my entire day off standing in line for those!” She says. “So you better eat them!”

“I’ll do my best.” 

No one is surprised to see that Ashe has given Dimitri a book, a collection of Fodlan fairy tales, cataloging different versions across the three nations. 

“You mentioned in your letter that you were interested in differences in culture, and I thought of you as soon as I saw the book,” Ashe confesses. Dimitri is already flipping through the pages, admiring the illuminations. 

“It’s gorgeous! I had no idea things could vary this much, even for something so small,” Dimitri says. 

“Your Majesty, forgive me. My gift is a little selfish,” Sylvain proclaims. Dimitri’s shoulders shake with laughter as he unwraps a pair of earmuffs. “I know you’re like, impervious to cold, but you’re giving me second hand frostbite everytime we go out.”

“I wonder if they’ll block you out along with the cold,” Dimitri says, voice full of mirth. He puts them on, and sadly shakes his head. “No such luck, I’m afraid.”

Even Marianne lets out a giggle at that. Yuri takes the opportunity to slip a packet to Dimitri. 

“It’s just a small trinket,” he says. “Along with a nice, heartfelt letter. It’s far too sappy to read in public.”

“Thank you, Yuri,” Dimitri says, admiring the broach. “I’ll make sure to read it later.”

“Oh, well now I want to know what it says!” Sylvain complains. Felix drives an elbow into his ribcage, and judging from the sound he makes, Ingrid has probably done the same. 

“Guess I’m the last one,” Felix says, stepping over empty boxes and wrapping paper. “Happy birthday, boar.”

“Felix,” Ingrid says, but Dimitri just laughs. He opens the box, and pulls out the paper. 

“Oh, it’s incense,” he says. 

“I know you like calming scents,” Felix says. “It’s supposed to help with sleeping. No idea how well it works.”

“I’ll test it out tonight,” Dimitri says. He unwraps a stick and inhales. “That smells lovely. Thank you, so much. All of you. I had a wonderful birthday.”

Dedue is passing out pieces of a homemade cake. 

“Truthfully, a year ago I never would have dreamed of ever having something like this again,” Dimitri says, and it stabs right into his chest, like a stitch in his side. “I’d never thought I’d see any of you again. I meant it when I said it before. All of you being here, alive, is the best gift I could ever receive.”

_ You too _ , Felix almost says. 

“We’ll be here again next year,” Dedue says. “And the year after that, and after that.” 

“No more birthdays alone,” Mercedes says. “Not just birthdays, either. We’ll always be here, whenever you need us.”

“Cheers to that!” Sylvain says, lifting up his teacup. Felix finds himself following suit, and they all clink their cups together. 

“To King Dimitri! Happy Birthday!” Annette calls out, and they cheer. 

Dimitri’s birthday wasn’t on the solstice, but it still felt like the darkest day of the year those past five years. Sometimes, he wakes up, and for a brief moment, he thinks it didn’t happen, Dimitri didn’t come back. That he’s still dead. Dimitri is alive, Felix reminds himself. 

“Happy Birthday,” Felix echoes, a little quieter than the rest. Dimitri seems to hear it though, over the din, and raises his cup to him, just a little. His face is flushed from the fire, and his wrists are still bony and a little too skinny. He’s scruffy, and works too hard, sometimes the boar jumps out again. But he’s _ alive _ , and that’s all that matters. 


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, sorry for the break! This chapter was a long one to write, but I'm glad to be back. Lots of Duscur politics in this one- I really think I needed double the length to really dive deep into that and give it the time and respect it deserves but alas, this will have to do.

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 21 _

There are some people who are good with kids, Felix notes. Ingrid, for example, is good with kids in a practical sense. She wrangles them around the table, and into the tub, and sternly glares at them until they eat their vegetables. Marianne, on the other hand, makes easy friends with every child at St. Noa’s Orphanage. They whisper secrets in her ears and show her their drawings with glee. Maybe it’s because she’s so good with animals, Felix thinks. Ashe is good at both, and Felix…

A child tugs at his sleeve, looking up at him with large, brown eyes. 

“Your swords are really cool,” she says. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Uh…” Felix says, the sound wheezing out as if he’d been stabbed. 

Felix is good at neither. 

“Hey, there’s sweet buns over by the fireplace,” Sylvain announces, and the girl scampers off. 

“This is the hardest thing he’s ever asked me to do,” Felix grumbles, and Sylvain laughs. 

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning in so close his lips are almost touching his ears. “There’s nothing sexier than a guy who’s good with kids.”

Sylvain yelps, and Mercedes walks by, looking serene. Sylvain rubs his side. 

“I thought you didn’t want kids,” Felix says. Sylvain shrugs. 

“I love kids,” he says. His eyes track the kids as they run around the room, excited from too many sweets. “I just don’t want to raise kids in the way that made me.”

He gets it, in a way. It’s not something he ever thought of, but he can tell by the way Sylvain bites his lip that it’s something that’s been weighing on him a lot. 

“Your Highness, we’re still missing two children who need to take their baths,” Dedue says, eyeing Dimitri as he sits next to the fire. 

“Oh, I’m afraid that Lisette and Winfred won’t be able to bathe tonight,” he says. A tiny hand carefully reaches out and pulls Dimitri’s cloak closer. Dedue can’t hide the mirth in his eyes. “They’ve been… taken by a wild band of flesh-eating pegasi.”

Dimitri’s cloak shakes with laughter. Dedue snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Flesh-eating pegasi, you say…. How devious. So then I suppose I won’t find anything if I do this!” He rips the cloak aside, and the two kids scream and bolt. Dedue chases after them, scooping them up one after the other. 

“Cute,” Sylvain says. He crouches down to talk to another child. The boy, thumb jammed in his mouth, reaches up to him. “You want up?”

Okay, Felix kind of gets what Sylvain meant. He bounces the boy, and his face is brighter than the gilded illuminations of the Goddess herself. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, voice high pitched and soft. The boy just stares at him. 

“Tobias doesn’t speak,” a small voice pipes up. It’s the same girl who asked him about his swords, this time with sweet buns conspicuously stuffed in the pockets of her apron. “Sometimes he screams at night, though.”

Sylvain’s face falls. It flickers for just a second, and then it’s back, his perfect, practiced smile. It gives him whiplash, sometimes, how quickly it can change, from real to fake to real again. Felix can always tell the difference. It’s in the way his eyes crinkle. 

“That’s okay, I do that sometimes too,” he tells the boy, quietly enough that Felix can barely hear him. The boy’s eyes widen a little, and Felix looks away. 

“If you’re still interested in my swords, I’ll let you take a look when the Sisters aren’t watching,” he says. The girl perks up. “It’s my Winter Solstice treat.”

He tells the others they’re sneaking out to get some air, down the brightly decorated walls, covered in children’s drawings. They creep past rooms filled with neatly made beds, each sized for a child, and over to a classroom where they’ve piled up outer layers still dripping from snow. He doesn’t carry as many weapons as he used to, but still, moons after the end of the war, his chest still feels tight when he’s without one. 

“There you go, just don’t cut yourself. Goddess knows how I’d explain that to the Sisters,” he says. She grasps the hilt, and it falls to the ground with a yelp.

“It’s so much heavier than I thought,” she laughs. “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

“About killing people.”

“Yeah.”

He sighs. “Why are you so interested?”

She can’t be more than ten, but her face is serious. She picks up the sword in both hands, dragging it up. 

“I wanted to fight in the war too,” she whispers. 

“Unfortunately, you’re a child. Be grateful you didn’t have to,” he snaps. She glares at him. 

“The Empire killed my parents,” she says back. “I wanted to make them pay.”

His head throbs. He kneels down, wrapping his hands around hers, prying them off the sword one finger at a time. It clatters to the ground. He picks it up and sheathes it, and she’s right. It’s heavy. 

“You can make them pay by living,” he says. “In my experience, it’s a much better form of revenge.”

She kicks at the floorboards. “You sound just like the Sisters.”

“Come on,” he says. “It’s warmer upstairs.” 

He’s terrible with kids. 

It’s pitch black when they leave. The streets are empty - everyone in Fhirdiad is crowded inside, celebrating to keep away the longest night of the year.

“There’s just so many,” Annette says. “Kids, I mean.”

“Too many,” Ashe says. For a second, he can see the kid Ashe used to be. Eyes too big in his head, painfully thin, hair scruffy like a stray cat. Too much like those kids in there, like the kids he saw during the war. “There’s a lot more where those came from.”

Felix wants to say something, but Ingrid rides up to Ashe, so close she can put her hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s going to be different now,” she says. “We can make sure of it.”

It’s a long, cold, and dark ride back to the castle, and he’s so tired. Sylvain gives him a peck on the lips, and moves towards the door connecting their rooms. He reaches out, grabbing him by the hand. 

“You should stay.”

Sylvain blinks in surprise. “Oh, sure. I know today was hard, so I thought you might want to be alone.”

“It was fine.”

Sylvain wraps his hands around his waist. 

“You looked upset, when you came back from outside. I know it’s a lot to handle, all of the kids. Look, if you want to talk-”

He pulls Sylvain down, onto the bed. He kisses him, cutting off Sylvain’s muffled noise of surprise. The war is over, but there’s still so many people fighting it. There’s no use talking about it, so he pulls back, listening to Sylvain pant, his breath hot against his face. 

He kisses him back, and his body is warm and heavy where it presses down on him. He gets it a little more tonight, why Sylvain is the way he is. 

* * *

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 22 _

“Pass me the jam, please,” Ingrid says, and Felix slides it across the table more. “Your Highness, eat more.”

Dimitri doesn’t look up from the thick stack of parchment he’s plopped down onto the breakfast table. 

“Your Highness,” she calls out. “Dimitri.”

He looks up, startled. She passes him a roll, slathered in butter and jam. 

“You’ve barely eaten,” she reminds him. Dimitri accepts it, and Annette sits down, gingerly placing a teapot on the table. She cranes her neck, examining the parchment as she pours herself a cup. 

“More financial reports from Ferdinand?” She asks. 

“Financial reports, census data, food stocks… he’s very on top of things. Ah, Annette, your tea-”

She yelps and dabs frantically at the spill with her handkerchief. 

“Ooh, I really am completely useless without caffeine,” she moans. 

“Annette, if you’d like to take time off-” Dimitri says, his voice kind and quiet. She laughs him off. 

“Nonsense, there’s so much to get done. Pass me one of those reports!”

“Alright, here’s his report on education. He’s been working on making it far more accessible in his territories. His most recent letter promises good results on that front.”

Ashe wanders in, blearily groping around for his seat. Dedue pulls out a chair and Ashe sits down, immediately burying his face in his arms. 

“He’ll be functional in an hour or so,” he says. Ashe grunts in response. 

Something creeps at the corner of his eye. He slaps away Sylvain’s hand. 

“Oh come on, you hate sweet buns,” Sylvain complains. 

“Ingrid, do you want my sweet buns?” Felix asks. 

“Cold as ice…” Sylvain whispers, and Dedue snorts into his napkin. 

“There’s more buns in the kitchen, you know,” Felix says. Sylvain gives him a look. 

“It’s about the principle, Felix.”

“Oh, this is for you,” Dimitri says, sifting through papers. Dedue narrowly catches a glass of water before it’s knocked over. “From the Minister of Agriculture.”

Ingrid brightens as she accepts the package. She leafs through it, the greedy look she usually reserves for food all over her face. 

“Oh, excellent! I’ll have to write a letter thanking them. These farming techniques should work wonders on Galatea soil.”

“Has that been going well?” Mercedes asks. Ingrid’s eyes are gleaming, and if he weren’t still hungry, this would be the sign to make a speedy exit. 

“It’ll take a few years to get up to full capacity, but with new fertilizing techniques we’re working on nourishing the soil. We’re going to let part of our fields lie fallow this year, but we estimate that we’ll get a comparable harvest from less arable land!” Ingrid is droning on and on, but despite that it seems like everyone is hanging on to her every word. Felix pokes a sausage with his fork. 

“That’s good, that’s really great, Ingrid,” Dimitri says. He squints at another parchment. “I had the Minister take a look at the Tailtean Plains as well. We’ll need the extra food.”

“Is it that bad?” Ashe pipes up. “Food-wise?”

Dimitri puts down the paper and sighs. 

“Not this year, no. The Empire and the Alliance have large stores of grain we can tap into. Goddess knows what Cornelia did with ours - it’s been decimated.”

“The people certainly didn’t get any of it,” Annette grumbles. 

“The issue isn’t this year, but next year. Gronder is the breadbasket of Fodlan, after all. It was badly damaged during the war. Its harvest this year was significantly lower than usual.”

Fire singes his cheeks. He gags on smoke, and it burns as it fills his lungs. He doesn’t know what’s worse- past the smoke is the thick scent of iron, hanging heavy in the air. Meteor strikes pound the ground, there’s a flash of a knife-

He stuffs the sweet bun into his mouth, letting the cloying taste drown it all out. 

“Blood makes for poor fertilizer,” Dedue says. “It could take years to get Gronder Field back to full capacity.”

“Still, if the Almyra relations go through, that’s a weight off your shoulder,” Sylvain says, gesturing wildly with a butter knife. Light glints off it. Felix shuts his eyes. “When are they arriving again?”

“Within the week. I expect news from Hilda and Lorenz any day now on that front. You’ll take point on that for me, right?”

“Anything for you!” Sylvain says, cheerfully. Too cheerfully. It grates on him. He wishes he’d put that knife down, but if he asks he has to say why. 

“Speaking of point,” Annete reminds him. “The festival. It’s in two days. We need to talk security.”

“I don’t think it would be wise to have Kingdom troops at a Duscur festival,” Dedue says. “Too many bad memories for that. It will make people uncomfortable.”

Dimitri nods. “Of course. I’ve talked to Yuri, and according to the underground there shouldn’t be any threats. But still…”

“The Community Center leaders are concerned there could be tensions from the Kingdom folk,” Mercedes says. 

“I’ll go over a list of guards,” Dedue says. “A lot of the Duscur people joined up during the war. I’ll see if I can find a list of those with Duscur blood.”

“No uniforms, then,” Dimitri says. “But enough of a presence to deter anyone who might want to disrupt the festivities. I’ll talk to the Captain of the Lion Corps, I’ll get you a list.”

“Excellent, Mercedes and I will head out to the center tonight and let them know.”

“Wow, breakfast isn’t even over and you’ve already solved three major crises,” Ashe groans. 

“That’s multitasking for you,” Sylvain says. Dimitri really is good at this, Felix notes. He takes a deep breath, and all that comes in is smoke. He coughs and heaves. 

Everyone is looking at him, eyes frozen. 

“Sorry, it just- down the wrong pipe,” he gasps. 

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asks. 

“I’m fine,” he snaps. Dimitri doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to him. He takes another sip of tea and hunches over his stack of papers. 

Felix shoves another bun into his mouth, desperate to get the taste out. 

“Hey, I thought you said I could have yours,” Ingrid protests. 

“You forfeited them the moment you started talking about agriculture,” he says through full mouth. Sylvain starts laughing, and Felix takes a deep breath. The air is clear, he reminds himself. This isn’t Gronder. 

* * *

He likes watching Sylvain sleep. His chest rises and falls, and his heart catches in his throat each time he pauses, waiting for it to happen again. 

When he was younger, after Glenn died, his father would open the door and watch him by candlelight. He’d found it annoying and stupid, but he pretended to be asleep every time. He always looked so old and tired. He should have said something, then. 

If Sylvain does this to him too, it’s not as if he’s had much of a chance these past few days. He hasn’t been sleeping much these past few days, not since the solstice. It’s everyone’s fault for bringing up Gronder at breakfast, he decides. Too many bad memories. He doesn’t wake up screaming, not like Dimitri used to do back at the academy. He’s gotten good at waking, quickly and silently. 

Sometimes Sylvain talks in his sleep, fragmented pleas for something, anything to stop. He never knows what to do when that happens. Do you wake them? Or do you just let them sleep? He always calms down eventually, face screwed up into a frown. 

“Hey.” Sylvain stirs next to him, long eyelashes blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Can’t sleep? Too much caffeine?”

“No, too much everything,” Felix says. “We’ve been busy, I can’t wind down.”

“Do you want me to help you wind down?” Sylvain laughs. He props himself up on his elbow, hair tousled, sheet wrapped around his bare chest. He looks like an Adrestian painting, his face roguish and knowing, at the same time. He hates that look on him. It isn’t real. 

“Let’s have sex,” Felix says, and Sylvain just blinks at him. 

“Right now? Like, all the way?” He asks, slowly. 

“Yeah.” He’s read about it enough. He wants to see Sylvain feel  _ good,  _ good enough to melt that look off his face, strip away the paint back down to canvas and finally see what’s underneath. 

“Mmm, I’d love to, babe, but I’m really, really tired, and I haven’t prepared at all. Can you wait until tomorrow, or are you just so filled with lust that you want to ravage me-”

“Now the mood is completely ruined,” Felix grumbled. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that your idea of a romantic mood was just bluntly saying ‘Let’s have sex,’” Sylvain teases, and Felix lets him ruffle his hair, just a bit. 

Felix forgets about the promise, though, until the next night when he’s sitting in between Sylvain’s legs. 

_ So how should we do this?  _ He wants to say, but instead he just swallows it, and tries to think about the books he read. 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Sylvain says.

“I’m not nervous,” Felix says automatically. He studies Sylvain, lanky and splayed out across the bed.

“I kinda assumed I’d bottom, but if you want to switch-”

“Sylvain?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Just. Shut up.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Sylvain says. He looks up at Felix, expectantly. Felix slicks up his fingers and leans forward, circling them around Sylvain’s hole. 

_ Slide it in, gently, gently-  _ The texts Ashe had recommended were fine, but not exactly textbooks on the matter. Sylvain winces as Felix pushes a finger inside. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Sylvain smiles at him, obviously not okay. 

“I’m fine!” Felix moves a little, and he grunts. “Watch your fingernails.”

_ Brilliant start, Felix,  _ he berates himself. He works a second finger in, a little more careful. Sylvain relaxes, muscle by muscle, and flashes Felix another sunny smile. 

“You can move now,” he tells him, and Felix pushes his fingers in and out. Sylvain doesn’t react, at least, not the way he was hoping. He bites down on his lip. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, trying to stamp down that needy whine out of his voice. 

“A little deeper,” Sylvain says. He shifts his hips, and Felix stares down, taking in the absurdity of the whole situation. He has his fingers up his boyfriend’s ass, and this has to be the least sexy thing he’s ever encountered. Not that he knows much about it. He can still picture Ashe’s tomato red face as he handed over the books, and he wants to punch him in the face, preferably with clean hands. He can’t believe that out of all people, that kid was the one with more experience. 

Still, seething slightly, he does as Sylvain asks and pushes in deeper. Sylvain wriggles beneath him. 

“Up a little,” he directs him, and Felix dutifully follows. “Okay, along there… yeah. Right there. It should feel a little different-”

Felix prods at the spot and Sylvain’s breath hitches. He does it again, harder this time, watching as Sylvain’s face flushes and he squirms. 

“That’s… it,” he gasps out, eyes screwed shut. Felix moves his fingers again. It’s like he’s conducting, each twitch drawing out a new sound from Sylvain’s lip. Sylvain looks up at him through his eyelashes, pupils blown out, and his cock jumps at the sight. 

“Used to do this when I was thinking about you,” he whispers, and the blood rushes to his face. “I was-  _ ah _ ! So lonely without you here.”

His face is burning, and Sylvain obviously likes that because he won’t stop talking. 

“Whenever I’d read your letters, I’d imagine your voice…” His own voice purrs, smooth and silky and he hates it, hearing him talk to him in the way he talks to all of those others. And he hates the way his dick is reacting. “And your fingers… and your cock.”

Felix pulls his fingers out, and Sylvain whines, hands twisting in the sheets. He’s rock hard, and Sylvain doesn’t seem to be too far behind him on the front. 

“You can put it in, if you want,” Sylvain says, panting. His chest heaves as he talks. “I prepared for it. I’m all ready for you.”

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Felix crawls over him and kisses him. 

“You look so good like this,” he says. He does look good.  _ It’s probably years of practice _ , the nagging little voice in his head says.  _ How many people has he tested this on? _

Felix ignores the intrusive thoughts and focuses on the feeling of cool oil on his dick. Suddenly his stomach hurts. Sylvain is a large man, but there’s no way this is possible.  _ It has to be _ , he reminds himself.  _ Sylvain’s done this before, right? _ He knows he has, he’s seen the aftermath, all jokes and fake smiles and bright red blood on white sheets. 

Sylvain pulls his legs apart, and stares up at him, waiting. 

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” Sylvain says. 

“I’m not,” Felix says, and he lines himself up at his entrance. Sylvain is hot inside, and  _ holy shit _ , Felix thinks. He gets it, all of those poems Ashe had made him read about “melting in his embrace” and “his burning, inner heat.” 

Sylvain whimpers as each inch slides inside him, and he wraps his arms around Felix, burying his face in his shoulder. 

“So… good,” he whispers in his ear, and Felix shudders. 

Sylvain tightens around him as he searches for that one spot. It’s incredible, the way he feels when he slides out, and then pushes back in. His body shakes, and his vision blurs- he’s dying, he’s being reborn, he’s-

“Um,” Sylvain says, and he pulls away to look Felix in the face. “Did you just come?”

“Um,” Felix repeats, and he pulls out. Semen drips out of Sylvain’s ass and onto the bed. Sylvain looks up and him and freezes, slapping a smile on his face. 

“Don’t feel bad, it’s okay! My first time was so embarrassing, I came in like two seconds,” he says, panicked. Felix sits back on his heels. His face must be hotter than Ailell, and nothing Sylvain is saying is helping. 

He cuts right through his babbling. “Here, let me get you off.” He wraps his hand around Sylvain’s cock. He knows what Sylvain likes when it comes to this, anyway. 

“That was nice,” Sylvain says after he finishes. 

“Yeah,” Felix says. Sylvain must be lying. He sits up, groaning a little. “Where are you going?”

“Just gonna clean myself out,” he says. “I’m all sticky.” 

He hobbles away, and Felix faceplants into the pillows. They still smell like Sylvain. Who absolutely, positively, must be lying, because that had to be the most pathetic first time anyone has ever had. 

* * *

_ Ethereal Moon, Day 24 _

Despite the freezing temperature, there’s an electrifying energy in the air. The crowd seems to be enjoying the dancing, both Faerghus and Duscur people alike. He meets Ingrid’s eyes from across the crowd, and she gives him a little smile. 

Dedue asked them all to keep an eye out, just in case someone decided to stir up trouble during the festival. There’s more than a few familiar faces in the crowd- he recognizes quite a few from the war. 

He picks his way over to one face he hasn’t seen in a particularly long time. A short Duscur woman watches as a younger group of dancers clumsily perform, much to the adoration of the crowd. She taps her foot to the music, looking for all the world to be a regular bystander. 

“Bahiti, good to see you,” he says. She nods back at him, eyes flicking back and forth over the crowd. 

“Felix, it’s been a while,” she says. “The east side of the square look all right to you?” 

“Marianne found a group of kids with snowballs on the roof over there. Nothing more threatening than that,” he says, shuffling in place to warm up. 

“That’s a relief,” she sighs. “Fhirdiad tends to be better, but there’s still a bunch of rotten apples around ready to spoil it.”

He studies her. Bahiti, leader of the King of Blue Lion Corps, was skilled in magic and swordplay in a way he was intensely jealous of. She’d fought at Dimitri’s side for years, and he’d seen her work on the battlefield. But here, dressed in traditional winter clothes and an elaborate crown of braids, she looked like she could be one of those clumsy children’s mothers. 

“Things haven’t been better after the war?” He asks, and she shrugs. 

“They say hunger and tragedies are two of the great equalizers. Lots of people from all over worked side by side in the resistance. And lots of people want someone close to home to blame things on. Since King Dimitri was crowned Fhirdiad’s been alright. I hear it’s far worse out west.”

“I see.”

There’s a glint of light and he whips around, hand going for his sword. Bahiti puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Someone’s a little jumpy,” she says, and he follows her gaze. Light from the braziers is glinting off a woman’s gold earrings. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“Apologies don’t suit you,” she says. She steers him around, and he stiffens as she manhandles him. “Relax. How are you enjoying the festival?”

“I don’t really understand it,” he admits, and she laughs. 

“I’m guessing that fancy monastery school didn’t teach you anything about Duscur culture,” she says. 

“Not really,” he says. “It’s New Years?”

“Technically,” she says. “Lunar New Year, anyways. We still follow pre-Imperial calendars. Your calendar makes no sense. Why is your New Year in the fourth month?”

“I have no defense for that,” he says, and she snorts. “I wasn’t the best history student.”

“Well, stick around for the play. I hear the kids practiced extra hard this year.”

“I’ll pass.” She takes one look at his face and laughs even harder.

“What, you aren’t thrilled with the idea of watching wooden acting and kids forgetting their lines constantly?”

“Dimitri is going to make me watch anyway.”

“Oh, he’ll be thrilled. He lives for that stuff,” she says. “I’m planning on slipping out myself. The secondhand embarrassment is too much for me. I had such a bad time doing that as a kid.”

He shoots her a look. 

“You miss it,” he accuses her. She throws her hands up in mock indignation. 

“What, me? Miss forgetting my lines in front of my entire village? You jest!”

“Ah, so that’s why you’d skip out and get drunk every New Year instead,” Dedue deadpans, and she pushes him. He doesn’t budge an inch. 

“Big words from someone who played the moon every single time.”

“The moon was a great role,” Dedue says. “I got to stand there in the fanciest headdress and say nothing.”

The image of a mini Dedue, exactly the same as he is now shrunk down on a stage springs to Felix’s mind. 

“It’ll be cute,” Dedue says. 

“Well I guess I have to stay now,” Felix says, sarcastically. 

“ _ You _ never had a choice,” Dedue responds. “Actually, I came to get the both of you. During the break in performances we wanted to give you a tour of the Community Center.”

“Oh, did they finally finish the second floor?” Bahiti asks. “Last time I was there it was still closed. The roof was all burned out.”

“Should be open after the New Year,” Dedue says as the pick their way through the crowd. The rest of Dimitri’s entourage is waiting by the entrance. “Meteor spells cause so much damage, the roof was barely holding on.”

The Community Center itself was a cheerful two story building right off the main square in Fhirdiad. The walls had been brightly painted, and he stops for a moment to appreciate the elaborate wood carvings on the doorposts. 

“It used to be an inn, but Imperial soldiers took over and used it as a garrison during the occupation,” Mercedes explains. “It was left empty after the battle, and we decided to fix it up!”

“Really, Mercedes undersells herself,” Dedue says. “She pressed a lot of her Church connections to get us the coin to start this.”

“The first floor has a meeting hall, functional kitchen, and space for a shrine,” she says. “The addition has stables and there’s talk about setting up a forge out back.”

“Kissa and some other weavers want to get a loom in here too,” Dedue says. “There are lots of traditional crafts that should be passed on.”

“Once we get the second floor classrooms open there will be plenty of room,” a warm voice says, and an elderly Duscur man pops out from the kitchen. 

“Elder Eket, thank you for inviting us! It is our pleasure to share these festivities with you,” Dimitri says, bowing deeply. They follow his lead, and the old man shakes his head.

“If anyone told me last year that the king of Faerghus would bow before me I’d have accused them of being day-drunk,” he says. “Thank you all for coming. With your help I feel as if I can call today a success.”

“Nonsense,” Dimitri says. “All of the hard work was yours. I believe you’ve met most of my friends, but I know there are some new faces.”

“Let’s see… I’ve of course met Dedue, Bahiti, and Mercedes. Oh! And Ingrid, welcome back.”

Ingrid bows to him again. 

“Thank you for having me,” she says. Felix watches her face, but he can’t detect any fault in her smile. Eket smiles back at her as well, before moving on.

“You must be Ashe. Dedue talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, I hope,” Ashe says, nervously. 

“Only the best. And you are…?”

“This is Duke Fraldarius,” Dedue says, gesturing at him. Eket’s eyebrows rise, only slightly.

“I’ve heard about you from Dedue as well,” he says. 

“Presumably less good things,” Felix says. Eket stifles a grin. 

“I believe the word he used was-” he says something in Duscur, and Dedue looks mortified. Bahiti and Dimitri laugh, and Ingrid turns a giggle into an obviously fake cough. “He said you were a steadfast ally.”

“I do my best,” Felix says, staying as neutral as possible.

“You all must be cold,” Eket says. “Mercedes, do you mind taking everyone back to the kitchen to get some hot drinks before the tour? I have to discuss some finances with His Majesty, so we shall reconvene on the second floor.”

“Since when could you speak Duscur?” Felix hisses at Ingrid under his breath.

“I started learning during the war,” she hisses back. “It’s useful. Learn some.”

“What did he say?” Sylvain asks, not bothering to hide it. 

“It’s a word for a small yappy puppy,” Ingrid says. “So it’s completely right.”

“100% accurate,” Sylvain agrees, nodding sagely. 

“As soon as we get back to the castle I’m getting on a horse and leaving you all here,” Felix grumbles.

“Ah, Felix, would you mind joining us?” Dedue calls out. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

Felix leaves the others and heads for the stairs. Dedue flushes as he approaches. 

“I am truly sorry about that,” he says as they head up to where Dimitri, Eket, and Bahiti have gone. “That was inappropriate of me-” 

“It’s fine,” Felix says. Begrudgingly, he adds. “It was funny, I suppose.”

“I promise you that it wasn’t meant to be derogatory. I would never badmouth you behind your back.” He pauses. “Only to your face.”

Okay, Felix admits to himself. Now that was actually funny. 

The wooden steps creak as they walk up them, past freshly painted walls. Dedue leads him into a classroom, marked with a sign in both Imperial and Duscur. 

Dimitri is crowded around the table with a group of other Duscur elders, conversing in rapid, urgent Duscur. 

“Your Majesty. Elders,” Dedue says with a bow. “Thank you all for coming. Everyone in this room was chosen for their loyalty, resourcefulness, and desire for justice.”

Everyone stands to attention, and he takes his place at the head of the table. 

“Before we begin, remember, that you are all sworn to secrecy. Not a word of what occurs here can leak. Not to your families, friends, lovers,” Deduce says, low and urgent. His eyes do not linger on Felix as he speaks, but the back of his neck prickles anyway. “If anyone asks, we were showing His Majesty what his… generous donation to the community center went to. Your Highness, if you may.” 

“My source in the west has supplied the final piece of the puzzle that we need,” Dimitri says, pulling out a letter. Felix’s eyes widen. Dimitri unfolds Yuri’s so-called sappy birthday note and spreads it out on the table. “With this we finally have evidence of Kleinman’s accomplices.”

Felix scans the page. Financial transactions line the paper, meticulous and strange. 

“No minor lord would need to hire that many troops,” Eket murmurs. “So many, before the Tragedy.”

“They were ready for a land grab before the King’s body even cooled,” Dedue says. “The troops were hired from Mateus and Gideon, as well.”

“And paid back with interest,” Felix notes. “An absurd rate, almost a 100% increase in less than a month.”

“Paid back in blood,” Bahiti says. “Look at the date. That’s after the massacre. That’s how they split the spoils.”

It isn’t much, not for the sum cost of hundreds of thousands of lives. It nags at him. Glenn, His late Majesty, so many innocent Duscur people died for a measly pile of gold, and land that was barely arable without the Duscur people’s knowledge of it.

“Is it enough?” A middle-aged woman asks. “Did we get him?”

“Enough to get Kleinman, anyway,” Dedue responds. “With this and the testimonial we have, it’s enough to arrest him on suspicion of treason, anyway.”

“It’s imperative that we take him alive,” Dimitri says. 

“You think he’ll talk? He’ll go to the hangman’s noose before he implicates the others,” Bahiti says. Dimitri sighs. 

“He’ll talk if it will spare his daughter. We have no evidence she’s implicated but, well. He doesn’t have to know that.”

“Underhanded,” Felix remarks. “Not bad.”

He’s out of place here. He’s never been involved in Duscur-Faerghus politics, even after Glenn’s death. He’d stopped caring about a lot of things, then. But Dedue wants him here for a reason. There’s a rustle of paper, and Dedue unfurls a map.

“Kleinman is a devout follower of the canon of the Western Church of Seiros. He and his men will be ritually fasting on Saint Seiros Day next moon.”

“We’ve already announced that I will be spending that time at Garreg Mach Monastery this year. It will be a perfect day for a sneak attack,” Dimitri says. 

“This is why this can’t leak,” Eket murmurs, checking the map. “If he catches wind, he can blockade us at the Denar Pass in time. Snowfall in Guardian Moon will seal that right up, it’ll be spring before we can reach him.”

“Enough time to get word to his allies,” Bahiti says, her face grim. “No one bites as hard as a cornered dog.”

“We can’t handle another war, not so soon,” another elder speaks up.

“It’s our best shot,” Dedue says. “The other two lords will sacrifice him rather than risk destabilizing western Faerghus so soon. They don’t know we’re on to them.”

“You’ll need men,” Eket says. “I can rally our people, but it won’t be enough.”

“No, it won’t be,” Felix muses. He meets eyes with Dedue, and he gets it. “That’s what I’m here for, right? You want Fraldarius troops.”

Everyone’s gazes settle on him, and he grins. He’s finally starting to get the rules of the game. 

“It would be the best option,” Dedue says, mildly amused that Felix has finally caught on. “The loss of the previous Fraldarius heir was well known throughout the Kingdom. What better than a public show of strength from one of our most illustrious victims?”

“How many will you need?” Felix says. 

“Intel suggests that Kleinman doesn’t garrison many troops currently. If we strike during the ritual fast, it should be no more than an honor guard,” Dedue says.

“Catching him with his pants down,” Bahiti muses. “Good. It’s what he deserves.” 

“It shouldn’t be difficult to move troops during this time, either,” Dimitri says, tracing a route on the map with his finger. “Plenty of people will be traveling, noble and common alike. We can build up a force by the mouth of the Ife river.”

“I can guarantee at least some of the troops that we’ll need,” Felix says. He pictures his father, and tries to match his cadence, the way he spoke and talked in the meeting Felix had been too bored to pay attention too. “It isn’t much, but it is my pleasure.”

“I can’t believe it,” Eket says, gently touching the Duscur coast. His hand lingers for a second longer, before he pulls it away. “Our homeland will be ours again, in less than a moon.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Dedue says, and his voice quavers as he speaks. “It won’t be over, not yet.”

“But it’s a start,” Dimitri says, softly. “Hopefully a start that continues to grow.”

The room is quiet, and outside the crowd thrums. It’s like they’re frozen there. The setting sun filters through the window. It’s peaceful, Felix thinks. In the depths of the war, it was easy to forget why they were still fighting. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Dimitri and Dedue move quickly and efficiently, rolling up maps and stuffing envelopes into pockets and the seams of coats. It only takes a breath, but it’s as if it was never discussed. 

“I have hot tea for everyone,” Mercedes says, nudging the door open with her foot. “I hope I’m not interrupting!”

“Oh, not at all,” Eket says, accepting a cup. “We were telling His Majesty about the language school we’re planning on opening.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” She says, handing out cups. “I’m really excited about it, I’m praying it will be a success!”

“I believe the play is about to begin,” Dedue remarks. “Shall we head outside to watch?”

They move to the door, and Felix finds himself descending the stairs with Eket. 

“Fraldarius,” The man muses. “I knew I remembered the name from somewhere.”

“I’m sorry you know our name from such tragedy,” Felix says. The words and tone spring to tongue more naturally now, but it still feels odd. It shouldn’t come so easy. 

“Your father was a kind man,” Eket says, and his gaze pins Felix to the spot, like piercing a specimen. “He took in many Duscur refugees during the war, even though he had reason to feel hurt.”

“My father long suspected your people’s innocence,” Felix says. He doesn’t move from the stairs. Even here, he can’t get away from it. “He was simply doing his duty.”

“Duty or not, few people have shown us kindness these past few years,” Eket says. The setting sun paints the whole corridor pink and gold. He shields his eyes from the light and turns away. “We don’t forget that.”

He swallows heavily, and nods to him. They walk quickly to catch up with the rest of their party. 

The air is brisk outside. 

* * *

There’s a bruise on his father’s cheek, and blood on his fist. He can’t say anything. The sun is setting around him, pink and gold and red. 

Dimitri rocks back and forth, cradling his father. His father used to hold him like that, after Glenn died, before Felix got too angry and too punchy to let him. Blood bubbles on his lips. 

He needs to tell him, he needs to say something to him. 

The ground explodes next to him, and he opens his mouth to speak, to scream anything, but ash and dirt choke him out. The ballista on the hill, it’s on fire, the hill is on fire. His dad is saying something to Dimitri, he should be there, he should-

Everything tastes like smoke. 

“Felix!”

Sylvain is shaking him, and he dodges a wild swing of Felix’s fist. 

“You were screaming,” he says. 

He’s hot and sweaty. No wonder he thought he was burning. He throws the blankets off and pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. It sticks to his forehead. He’ll need to wash it in the morning. 

He didn’t even notice him leave until he’s back, handing him a cool cup of water. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sylvain asks, sitting on the bed next to him. 

“Do you honestly think that would help?” His voice cracks, shamefully. It must have been grating, because Sylvain flinches a little. 

“Mercedes and I talk about ours, sometimes. I think it does,” he says. Felix shakes his head. 

“I just want to go back to bed,” he says, and he gulps down the entire cup like he’s dying of thirst. He lies down, facing away from Sylvain. He can feel his weight settle down next to him. 

“If you ever do,” Sylvain says, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

It doesn’t matter, Felix thinks. Sylvain would never understand. 


End file.
